The Cycle Continues Part One: Reunited
by autumn6435
Summary: Their ten-year separation has affected Eragon and Arya in equally uncomfortable and exactly opposite ways. While she is constantly cold, he is always miserably hot. When Arya realizes her feelings have deepened over the years, she makes the difficult decision that will forever change her life, allowing her and Eragon to find healing and happiness. Contains a few mature love scenes.
1. Cold

**A/N:** I'm a little late to the scene of discovering and falling in love with the Inheritance Cycle, but I have arrived nonetheless. And quite simply, it captivated me in such a way as to leave me wanting more by the end. I appreciate how the series ended and recognize there was not enough time for it to have ended any other way. I agree with something I once read from the author that he could not have forced Eragon and Arya together in the time left without breaking her character. I admire that Eragon made the difficult decision to leave Alagaёsia and followed through with it. But the intentional loose ends and lack of closure, particularly in the area of his and Arya's potential romance, still left me sorely dissatisfied.

In an experience I've never before had, I found my curiosity _demanding_ answers of what might have been if, as Arya suggested was possible, there had been enough time for her to develop feelings for Eragon. After days of struggling to be at peace with what was and even finishing a completely different trilogy, I could _not_ get the story out of my mind and my imagination continued to create a future for Eragon and Arya.

I am aware that Paolini intends to revisit the land of Alagaёsia in the future with Book Five, and I was reluctant to tamper with his world and characters, but alas, I couldn't resist. The moment I decided to sit and write out some of my fantasies, I felt a sense of relief and excitement that I might be able to experience some degree of closure until the time comes when I can learn what the author himself intends for his story. Yet what began simply as an exercise to satisfy my curiosity and put into writing the flurry of fantasies in my mind unexpectedly evolved into what could be a full-length _trilogy_ , complete with unforeseen conflicts and new characters who demanded to have their story told.

 _The Cycle Continues_ is completely finished and divided into four parts, each published as its own story on this site. The end of each part has instructions on how to find the next one.

This story is, first and foremost, a romance, and it contains some mature love scenes. In order to comply with the guidelines of this site, I have revised such scenes to appropriately fit into the Mature rating (in other words, removed all Mature Adult content) and have provided directions on how to find the original scenes, where applicable, at the beginning of each respective chapter, for those who are interested.

I have finished what I perceive as my final revisions of this story. Parts One and Two have been professionally edited, and I have used those corrections and suggestions, along with pertinent reader feedback, to guide my personal efforts in improving my story. One of the major changes was to tone down the aforementioned love scenes. They are now shorter and less detailed, and each contains a brief warning at the end of the preceding chapter so you can know to skip it if you want. Overall, the current listing of my story is nearly 60,000 words shorter than the original posting, and I hope you will find fewer grammatical errors and enjoy a better flow.

 _The Cycle Continues . . ._

In Part One:

 **Reunited**

* * *

 **1\. Cold**

 _Eragon._

Arya awoke suddenly, her eyes snapping open. She shuddered and drew her blanket tighter around her as she pressed into Fírnen's warm body. Even with the thick blanket and the protective warmth of Fírnen's wing, the cold was unbearable, filling her heart and chilling her to the bone.

It was the middle of the summer, but a shiver ran through her body. Arya thought about the last moments of her waking dreams. Eragon had been reaching for her—about to touch her hands—when she woke up. Tears filled her eyes as she wished she could reenter her dreams and let them continue. She felt certain that if Eragon could just reach her, she would feel some warmth, the first she had in years. Yet she always awoke at the same moment, right before he touched her.

Arya held her hand in front of her face and studied the three fingers she had pressed to Eragon's lips just before they parted ways ten years ago. _Ten years_ , she thought. Such a short amount of time compared to her years of life, but the longest ten years she had ever endured.

Eragon had asked her to stay with him until the first curve in the river, and Arya had. When they reached it, he had pulled her cowl away so he could look at her eyes. Eragon said her name and whispered her true name, and she had whispered his true name in reply. He had opened his mouth to speak again, but Arya had stopped him by placing her fingers against his lips.

Arya remembered how warm and soft his lips were. Surprisingly soft compared to his hands, which were rough, callused, and strong. As she had so many times, she wondered if she had somehow transferred all her internal warmth into Eragon in that simple touch. She had felt cold ever since, and it grew worse with each passing year.

Arya pressed the same fingers to her own lips, willing the warmth to return, but it didn't.

Fírnen's mind touched hers. _Little one_ , he said in his deep voice, his thoughts full of concern.

Another pang filled Arya's breast. Fírnen had adopted that endearment from Saphira, the same she had always tenderly used for Eragon. It certainly was fitting. Fírnen was now enormous, and Arya was littler next to him each year. Fírnen poked his long, handsome face under his wing and breathed warm air from his nostrils onto her body.

 _Thank you_ , Arya thought, wishing the warmth would extend past her skin and do something—anything—to alleviate the chill in her bones.

 _You grow worse,_ Fírnen stated. His anxiety for her wellbeing increased with every passing day. Even staying near him all day didn't help stave off the cold. Arya felt weak and achy from the constant tension in her muscles as they worked to keep her warm.

 _Yes,_ she agreed _._

Arya and Fírnen had conversed many times about her dilemma, but her confusion over what she should do never seemed to clear. When she had returned to Du Weldenvarden eleven years ago with Fírnen's egg in her lap, she had been overcome with grief at her mother's death and felt it would be enough to keep her content to remain in the home she had forsaken for so many years as ambassador to the Varden.

Arya hadn't been certain the elves would invite her to succeed her mother as queen, but she assumed the position would be lonely and boring if they did. When Fírnen had hatched for her, Arya knew it would change many things, but if anything, she thought it would provide fulfillment and companionship.

And the elves had indeed offered Arya the monarchy. Though she had resisted at first, her sense of duty had eventually compelled her to accept. At the time, she had been filled with the excitement and wonder of raising Fírnen. Arya now worried she had been shortsighted in her plans by not expecting the strength of their bond—and by extension, the depth of his desire to experience greater freedom with others of his own kind—to shape her own feelings so much. Fírnen thought often of the few weeks he had enjoyed Saphira's company. They were his fondest memories. He had such a limited amount of time with other members of his race, and he longed to interact with more mature dragons.

Arya also felt a deep longing to be with the other Riders. Save for the few times she had flown to assist Nasuada in the settling of various skirmishes, Arya had little to do that occupied her as a Rider. She was lonely in Ellesméra, and without the threat of Galbatorix looming over them any longer, the land of the elves was once again quiet and unchanging.

Arya had thought she would find respite in the peace of the forest, but she actually ached for adventure. Flying with Fírnen, while exhilarating, became more and more uncomfortable due to the cold that never left her. His sadness at her situation and his inability to help her weighed heavily on her consciousness, though Fírnen tried not to burden Arya with it.

The two dragon eggs Eragon left with Arya took some time to find their new Riders. Finally, nearly nine months after Eragon's departure, the large black one had hatched for a young Urgal ram named Varhog. Arya had entrusted Nar Garzhvog with the egg, since he was the spokesperson for the Urgals in their alliance with the Varden and had pledged his friendship to Nasuada when she was crowned high queen of Alagaёsia.

The Urgal Choosing Ceremony had taken place in the Urgralgra capitol Anghelm, and Varhog, as it so happened, was one of Nar Garzhvog's nephews. After several months of allowing the hatchling to grow until he could fly with his Rider on his back—which took a month longer than normal since Varhog was so large—Varhog had joined Arya in Ellesméra to formally begin his training as a Dragon Rider. That was in the spring, a year after Eragon left, and it was a time of great excitement among the Urgals of the Bolvek clan, who revered Eragon for including them in Dragon Rider pact.

Arya was increasingly impressed by how wise and mature Eragon had grown in those final few months prior to leaving Alagaёsia. She realized long ago that for most of the brief time she had known Eragon, she had rarely tried to see him as anything more than a human teenage boy with a crush on her. She had not initially found his affections flattering, but she regretted that view more and more as the years passed. She hadn't given him enough credit for his improvement. And her sense of duty then had still been so strong, as well as her commitment to her people and her mother's legacy.

Arya, Fírnen, and the Eldunarí who remained in Alagaёsia were responsible to oversee the raising of the hatchling and the instruction of the Rider and dragon until they were ready to join Eragon on the Isle of the Eldunarí. This they did in the case of Varhog the Urgal, who left their tutelage but a few months after arriving.

The location of the Isle of the Eldunarí—an island off the eastern coast of the wilderness beyond Alagaёsia—was a closely guarded secret to discourage curious adventurers from pursuing its discovery. Arya alone was privy to it until the new Riders were ready to journey thither. The Isle was within sight of the mainland and the majestic falls that marked the end of the Edda River, but far enough that it was nearly impossible to reach unless flying on the back of a dragon.

The waterfall, in particular, provided the most daunting obstacle. Eragon and the twenty-nine elves accompanying him had safely maneuvered their craft—the _Talíta_ —down to the ocean below using magic. But few other sailors would have the hope of successfully imitating such a feat.

After Varhog and his dragon, Black Thunder—which was a translation from the Urgal tongue of a name Arya found most difficult to pronounce—flew to the Isle, the second egg had hatched for a kinsman of King Orik named Knilf. In this case, Arya had been able to fly to Tronjheim and return to Ellesméra with Knilf and his tiny hatchling. Then she, Fírnen, and the Eldunarí had supervised the raising of the dragon and the instruction of the pair until they were ready to fly to the Isle, which occurred almost as soon as the dragon was large and strong enough to carry its Rider. It happened sooner with Knilf, as he was so much smaller in stature than Varhog. That had given Arya and Fírnen only a short two and a half months with another Rider and dragon before once again being alone in Alagaёsia.

After those two eggs successfully found their Riders, Arya was surprised to meet Murtagh the following year, bearing the next egg meant to hatch for a Rider. He had joined Eragon some months after Eragon had discovered the Isle and deemed it an appropriate home for the dragons and Riders. Apparently, after Murtagh had attempted to remain hidden and aloof for some months, Eragon had scryed him with an invitation to join him, the elves, and the Eldunarí on the Isle. Murtagh had accepted and been given the assignment of returning each year to deliver the next egg to find a Rider.

The Riders and dragons had identified a pattern. With the exception of Murtagh, a dragon had hatched for a human, an elf—Arya herself—then an Urgal, then a dwarf. With the approval of the dragons, the Riders decided to repeat this pattern. The dragons agreed to next hatch for a human, and after meeting with Arya and explaining the system, Murtagh had departed for Ilirea where the Human Choosing Ceremony was being held. Arya vaguely recalled from something Nasuada shared that the brilliant, pink-orange egg had hatched for a young woman.

During that brief visit, Murtagh—at Eragon's request—had asked that Arya scry the Isle once a year in case there was a need to exchange information regarding the process. Arya knew Eragon could use the name of the ancient language to bypass the magical barriers protecting Du Weldenvarden and contact her if the need was great. But he had promised not to do so—out of respect for the privacy of the elves—unless there was a true emergency.

That year, since Murtagh was the custodian of the dragon egg destined for the humans, he had overseen the raising of the hatchling and accompanied the new Rider and her dragon back to the Isle.

The Rider Choosing Ceremonies were held in the summer, which allowed time for the hatchling to grow large enough to fly with its Rider to the Isle before winter fell upon the land. So the following summer Murtagh delivered the egg into Arya's care, as it was meant to hatch for an elf. And hatch it had for Hanin of Ellesméra. Arya once again enjoyed the privilege of helping raise the hatchling and train the pair until the dragon was able to carry Hanin to the Isle.

But that had happened six years earlier. Hanin and his violet dragon, Vera, were the last dragon and Rider Arya and Fírnen had seen, since Murtagh was now responsible to deliver the eggs to the other races, along with the first Riders from each race—Varhog, Knilf, and the human girl—if they wished to accompany him.

And six years ago was also the last time Arya had spoken to Eragon by means of the enchanted scrying mirror they had placed prior to his departure. She contacted him to inform him that Hanin was ready to journey to the Isle and that Eragon should expect his arrival within a fortnight.

The pattern had continued uninterrupted once more through, and the next dragon had hatched for another Urgal. The second Urgal Rider was a Kull ram named Grintuk, who hailed from the northern Delvhtuk tribe dwelling in Anghelm. After Grintuk, another dwarf—even Bodin of Tarnag—joined the Riders.

The following year, Arya learned during her annual scrying session—which never happened with Eragon but usually Murtagh or Hanin—that the dragons had insisted on waiting two years to begin the cycle once more. The many new male Riders needed time to develop the bonds of friendship and brotherhood that would enable them to peacefully progress in their order.

This news was difficult for Arya to receive, for she found herself desperately anxious to enjoy the company of another Rider and dragon. And as the next dragon was intended for a human, she had been forced to wait even longer. Yet another male was chosen, this one a young man from Daret of only thirteen years of age.

Arya had scryed the Isle earlier that spring and was inexplicably disappointed when she spoke with Hanin, not Eragon. She learned that Hanin planned to bring the next dragon egg to Ellesméra later that summer. Arya anticipated his arrival more every day, but she wasn't sure she could wait that long anymore.

Arya thought of her last scrying conversation with Eragon six years ago when Hanin was preparing to leave for the Isle. It had been formal and to the point. Eragon had asked how she was, of course, and Arya had answered in turn. Then she had asked after him. But the main purpose of the visit was to exchange information.

Arya had scryed Eragon on only a few other occasions. The first occurred about six months after his departure from Alagaёsia to see if he had discovered a suitable location for raising the dragons and training the new generation of Riders. He had and had been busy with Murtagh, Blödhgarm, and the other elves in organizing the construction of a stronghold on the Isle, with the memories of the Eldunarí to guide them. The other times Arya contacted Eragon by scrying were only to obtain directions to the Isle or to inform him that a new Rider was preparing to journey thither.

But six years ago, while their conversation had been formal, one thing stood out to Arya above anything else, and that was the look in his eyes as he spoke with her. She hadn't been sure at the time, but now Arya felt certain it had been a look of longing, like Eragon desired her presence there with him. He had once promised her that his feelings for her would never change. Indeed, she remembered for herself, as she thought of his true name, how central his affection for her was in his being.

Arya shivered again. The only time she felt a sliver of warmth penetrate the endless cold was when she thought of Eragon's true name and how much he loved her.

 _Loved her?_ she thought. _Did he really?_ Eragon had never said those words exactly, but Arya was sure he would have if she had allowed him to. Perhaps those were the very words she had stayed his lips from speaking ten years earlier when they stood together on the _Talíta_. Was that why Arya had lost all warmth? Because she couldn't allow herself to be loved? Had she forced the heat of Eragon's love to stay within him and drained herself of any in the same moment?

Arya shook her head in frustration, blinking back tears. She thought she knew what she needed to do to find relief from the cold and from the lonely emptiness inside. What surprised her, however, was that she _wanted_ to do it, had actually _considered_ doing it. But her sense of duty to her people as queen always kept her from following her heart.

Eragon hadn't said anything to her when they had conversed six years previously, hadn't once again entreated her to come. Arya knew he would never ask again, at least not with words, but she felt his eyes had communicated the message clearly enough. At the same time, she wondered if he actually didn't _want_ to talk to her again. This conversation those many years ago was the last time she had spoken with Eragon, for her pre-appointed scrying time usually happened with Murtagh or Hanin. Deep within, however, Arya felt that couldn't be right. Perhaps it was too painful for Eragon to see her.

Arya had a feeling there might always be a part of Eragon that wouldn't give up hope that things might change between them. But he had clearly made a solemn decision to leave the matter in her hands and go about his responsibilities on the Isle without letting his desires interfere. Arya felt her admiration for his growth and maturity surface again, and suddenly she wished she could see Eragon—even if it _was_ only in a scrying mirror—and speak with him in the friendly way they once had.

Fírnen, who was quietly keeping his peace during her musings, entered her thoughts again. _When will you decide to admit your feelings and be honest with yourself?_

 _Fírnen, what good would it do!_ Arya petulantly thought. Her dragon was the only one she ever acted that way with, and it was sometimes a relief not to be perfectly formal and proper all the time. _So what if I were to admit I love Eragon?_

Arya inhaled sharply as the thought abruptly stopped her, realizing she had never before given that idea form, not even in her thoughts. Now that she had, the truth of it slammed into her, filling her with an unexpected but blessedly welcome warmth.

 _I love Eragon,_ Arya thought in amazement _._

 _Yes, little one,_ Fírnen patiently replied.

 _You knew?_ Arya wondered.

 _For some time now I have suspected. It would have done no good to suggest it, however, until you were ready to admit it on your own._

 _But . . . but that doesn't change my duties here,_ Arya protested. _My responsibility to my people and my mother's memory._

 _No, but you have been thinking for many months now about a way to carefully and dutifully arrange for them to be taken care of. Put your plans in place. We should go. It is what you and I both want. We belong with the dragons and the Riders, for so we are._

 _But Fírnen,_ Arya persisted, _I can't fly off and abandon my obligations on a whim! Perhaps it was a bit hasty to suggest I love Eragon._

Fírnen's amusement was overshadowed by exasperation. _Little one,_ he reprimanded. _Do not continue to stubbornly deny your feelings. Ignoring your heart has only led to suffering. Your health is swiftly deteriorating. How much longer must this continue before you care enough about yourself to take the needed action?_

 _But is it possible that I really love Eragon?_ Arya earnestly wondered. _We haven't seen one another in ten years, and I haven't even_ spoken _with him for six._

Fírnen chose his next words with care. _Arya, though I have not known you long, I believe it is fair to say that I know you better than anyone else. From your thoughts and memories, I have discerned many things, little one. When I first hatched for you, your mother had just died, which was devastating for you. Your relationship may not have been ideal, but she was your only family and you cared for one another. Before even that, however, a different death weighed more heavily on your heart._

Arya knew where Fírnen was going. _Fäolin_ , she said.

 _Fäolin_ , Fírnen agreed. _I never knew him, but I learned enough from your memories to understand how dear he was to you. Your friend, companion, kindred spirit. Someone who shared your views, who worked and fought alongside you for twenty years._

 _Yes_ , Arya said, now unsure what Fírnen was getting at.

 _When you first met Eragon, he had not even been alive as long as you and Fäolin knew each other. The pain of losing Fäolin was still so fresh and raw. Learning that Eragon cared for you was not only unwelcome, it was also nearly repulsive. How could anyone ever compare with the friend you had known in Fäolin, especially such an impulsive, immature human teenager?_

This discussion would have once made Arya extremely upset, for she was beginning to understand Fírnen's drift. But the fact that Arya didn't feel that disquiet helped her recognize the validity of Fírnen's argument.

He continued, _And yet, over the course of the ensuing two years, did not your relationship with Eragon quickly deepen to what you enjoyed with Fäolin? Did you not share the same vision and purpose? Did you not fight alongside him and assist him in his greatest triumph?_

 _I did_ , Arya allowed.

 _Little one_ , Fírnen gently insisted, _Eragon is the closest friend you have, a person you trust above all others, including Fäolin, for you shared with Eragon your true name, an honor you did not even extend to Fäolin. And did his knowledge of your true nature discourage Eragon? Did he reject you because of your flaws and weaknesses?_

 _No_ , Arya said. _He didn't. Though I rejected him too many times to count._

 _That may be true, but that was not my point. For many years now, I have rarely known you to think about Fäolin. Your grief has faded. You will always consider him one of the dearest friends you had, but you no longer miss him like you once did. Arya, the reason I have long suspected you love Eragon is because_ he _is the man constantly ruling your thoughts and dreams._ His _true name, which clearly reveals his deep affection for you, is the only thing that provides you with any relief from the relentless cold. He loved you before he truly knew you, and he continued to love you after he learned your true nature. Is that not pure love? Your instinctive reaction to love is to suppress it, ignore it, because what if allowing yourself to care deeply led to another loss and heartache such as Fäolin? But is that a valid reason to continue suffering?_

 _I suppose not_ , Arya admitted.

 _If you refuse to follow your heart, you may avoid potential pain, but you will undoubtedly continue to experience the constant misery of this coldness. But what if you allowed yourself to be in love, Arya? I would say your chances of being rejected are fairly low. Eragon swore his feelings would not change. Your scrying session six years past seemed to confirm his honesty. What if you went to him and he accepted you? Would you be glad to find relief? Would you want to experience such happiness?_

Arya immediately knew she wanted relief from the cold. Never had she experienced torture to compare with the exhausting, everlasting nature of her agony. Nothing could warm her. But she had to think for a moment about the happiness. Could she allow herself to actually be _happy_? Save her twenty year companionship with Fäolin, Arya had no conscious memory of a time in her life that she would identify as truly happy. Since her father was killed when she was an infant, her mother was always distant. From a young age, Arya felt driven to avenge her father, to fight injustice, to seriously perform such duties without regard to her personal feelings. Losing Fäolin in such a cruel way led to her belief that loving was folly and she ought not to open herself to another person when it could result in such grief.

But as she considered Fírnen's counsel, Arya felt a stirring of excitement within her, for she couldn't deny that part of herself longed to experience love and happiness, yearned to give priority to her own feelings. Could she do it? Her sense of duty had always been her most defining characteristic, guiding her in making all of the most important decisions in her life. Could she leave behind the obligations she had chosen to take upon herself? Could she abandon her duty?

 _You would not be abandoning your duty, Arya,_ Fírnen reminded her. _You have a duty to yourself as a Dragon Rider. You need to learn the ways of the Riders in the flesh and that happens on the Isle of the Eldunarí. Yes, we have learned much from the Eldunarí of my brethren who remained behind with us, but it is not the same as being with those of our order. You have a duty to me as your bonded dragon to allow me to learn what I must and be among others of my own kind. And your duty to your own heart, which you have always regarded as least important, is in actuality perhaps the most significant duty you have. You would not be abandoning your most important duties by going now to finally fulfill them._

 _You're right, of course,_ Arya agreed _. Why then do I still feel so reluctant?_

 _Because you are unsure of what to expect with Eragon. You hope he still feels the same and would welcome you there, not only as a Rider but also as the object of his affection and love. Having only just admitted your true feelings for him, you doubt now that he still returns them._

 _You know exactly why I'm reluctant. You can read my thoughts after all_ , Arya wryly thought, feeling Fírnen's amusement. _But what if that_ is _the case, Fírnen? We haven't spoken, not even by scrying, in years. What if Eragon doesn't_ want _to speak with me, doesn't want to see me?_

 _You know that is not true, little one. A moment ago you thought about the more likely reason. It is most likely too painful for Eragon to see you when he believes that he will never again be with you in person._

When Arya's heart ached in a strange yet familiar way, she realized that her feelings must have been evolving for a long while. To imagine that Eragon might be enduring pain similar to her own because of their separation only intensified her distress, and Arya wanted to ease the suffering they were both experiencing by going to him. But she couldn't completely shake the worry that he had perhaps moved on. Maybe the human girl had caught his eye.

 _Nonetheless_ , Fírnen continued, _whether he feels the same or not, on that island with the other dragons and Riders is where we belong. I know you agree._

 _Yes,_ Arya thought, taking a deep breath. _I do._ Her decision now would change everything for the rest of her life, and the only remaining obstacle was her weighty political position. She resolved to do as Fírnen advised and put her careful plans in place. _Let us go counsel with Lord Däthedr._

-:-:-:-

* * *

 **A/N:** I realize there are a number of ways you might have discovered this story, and I sincerely appreciate that you have started reading it. Lately I've received a number of reviews (go read them!) objecting to some of the prevalent themes in my story. I love ALL reviews, positive or negative, because they help other readers get a feel for whether or not they want to check out the story.

But here's the thing: I've done my best to forewarn prospective readers about what this story contains. If you didn't find your way here by first reading my story listing entitled _The Cycle Continues,_ might I kindly request that you click on over and check it out? It's less than 1,000 words and briefly outlines some of the major themes that many readers have disliked. Whether or not it influences your decision to keep reading or to stop, at least you will have a more thorough understanding of what you're getting yourself into so you don't feel irritated by the end. Maybe this seems lame to you, like I'm trying to make excuses for my story, but really I'm just tired of hearing the same complaints when I've done so much to say, "This is what my story is like, and it will remain this way. Take it or leave it." So click my username above (autumn6435), read the long P.P.S. in my profile because it contains more of the same, then scroll down to the aforementioned story listing ( _The Cycle Continues_ ) and quickly read it. Thanks! ~Autumn :)


	2. Hot

**2\. Hot**

Eragon ducked low behind Saphira's neck as she plummeted toward the water below, eager to escape the glare of the sun. He felt her fierce enjoyment as she crashed into the lake, creating a magnificent wave in her wake. The cool of the water washed over him, bringing sweet relief from the never-ending heat in his blood.

Eragon's consternation over his unexplained condition grew daily. Some time within the past many years since leaving Alagaёsia, he had noticed a constant prickle of heat burning under his skin. Knowing what fever felt like and that this was different, Eragon quickly ruled out illness, especially since the relentless heat never ended, but instead seemed to increase, day after day, week after week, year after year.

No matter what he was doing, Eragon was always overheated, which indeed became alarming when he was engaged in strenuous exercise that normally resulted in sweating, as was often the case on the Isle. In such instances, sweat poured off his body in such copious amounts as to leave him quickly exhausted and dehydrated.

On the other hand, even when he should be peacefully resting at a comfortable temperature, such as on a cool evening, he would feel flushed and sticky. It didn't help that the island's tropical climate often made the air heavy and moist, with mild weather year-round. As a result, Eragon quickly learned to sleep in only his pants—even in the cooler winter months—if he wished for the smallest chance of comfort. In the summer, he had no choice but to perform all his activities bare-chested for fear he would otherwise pass out from overheating and excessive thirst.

Eragon had consulted Blödhgarm, the Eldunarí, and Saphira countless times, but they had never reached a satisfactory explanation. No one seemed to have any idea why he always felt so wretchedly hot.

Saphira surfaced so he could breathe, and Eragon allowed himself to float away from her so she could dive deeper and remain submerged longer. She busied herself chasing fish and performing elaborate underwater acrobatics, generously giving him time to be alone with his thoughts. Swimming in the lake was the only place Eragon felt a shred of peace anymore, for it took the edge off his misery long enough for him to think straight.

Since he and the elves had discovered this island ten years before and determined with the help of the Eldunarí that it was the ideal location for the home of the Riders and dragons, Eragon had thrown himself into the work of building a city and training new Riders. He had characteristically struggled to come up with a suitable name, so he had simply settled on the Isle of the Eldunarí, as it was home to the hundreds of gem-like orbs that housed the deceased dragons' consciousnesses.

The two hundred and forty-three dragon eggs from the Vault of Souls had already hatched, the dragons inside eager to escape their confines after over a century of waiting. Only nineteen eggs from that stash remained unhatched, which were those left after seven of the original twenty-six found their Riders. Raising the hatchlings had been an intensive effort requiring the total dedication of every elf who had accompanied Eragon, since there had been so many younglings at first and so few to help oversee their growth.

Eragon had scryed Murtagh not long after finding the island and invited him and Thorn to join them, though he hadn't expected much to come of it. But Murtagh had come only a month later, immersing himself in the work just as devotedly as Eragon. Murtagh had shared that his whole desire in departing after Galbatorix's demise was to be alone and find healing. Since it was easier to avoid attention on a remote island far from Alagaёsia where he was actually welcome and Murtagh wanted further training anyway, joining Eragon seemed the logical course of action. Eragon was immeasurably grateful for the unassuming companionship and dry wit of his half-brother.

Each year since, a new Rider joined their ranks as soon as their dragon was strong enough to fly them to the Isle. Varhog, the first Urgal Rider in the history of the Dragon Rider pact, showed up nearly a year after Eragon discovered the island and had been heavily involved in all of their early construction efforts. Eragon was relieved that the first of the two dragon eggs he left in Alagaёsia had hatched for an Urgal.

Less than a year later, the second egg had hatched for the first dwarf Rider, Knilf, who was able to join them some months earlier than Varhog as he was so much smaller in stature.

Murtagh delivered the next egg to Alagaёsia for the first official Human Choosing Ceremony held in Ilirea. That dragon hatched for another human, a girl named Willow, who was initially timid and deferential around Eragon, a hero she remembered well from the Battle of Urû'baen.

Eragon was grateful her awestruck reverence hadn't evolved into adoration, for the next Rider to join them was an elf—Hanin—whose arrival had been preceded by Eragon's last conversation with Arya. One of only a handful in all his time on the Isle, the scrying session had been a painful reminder that Eragon would never have feelings for any woman besides Arya. He wouldn't have liked to cause Willow pain by slighting her, for he would have been unable to return her affection had it developed. Fortunately, their relationship relaxed into the same comfortable rapport Willow enjoyed with Murtagh, one often found between amiable siblings.

Arya.

She was the only missing piece of this puzzle, the only Dragon Rider not here with them. Arya had helped Varhog, Knilf, and Hanin raise their dragons until they could carry them to the Isle. When Vera was strong enough to bring Hanin, Arya had scryed Eragon to inform him of Hanin's imminent arrival. Eragon had tried to remain formal and reserved to hide his desperate longing for Arya, which had only intensified over the years. He was determined to never again bring his suit before her unless, by some improbable miracle, she ended up on the island in person.

Eragon did his best not to think about Arya, and Saphira encouraged him in this effort, knowing it would do him no good to pine over what they had intentionally left behind in Alagaёsia. But Eragon knew that Saphira often thought about Fírnen, and for this reason, she understood why his thoughts seemed ever to stray back to Arya. Though Saphira had heatedly informed Eragon that dragons did not mate for life when she first met Fírnen, she had never taken a liking to any of the other dragons she'd had the opportunity to meet and live with during the last decade. Saphira still held Fírnen in higher regard than any of them and wished for his company on the Isle.

Most of the time it wasn't hard not to think of Arya. Eragon was so busy organizing the delivery of eggs to Alagaёsia, training new Riders who arrived, and continuing his own education under the direction of the Eldunarí that he rarely had a spare moment to sit still. But when he could bear his responsibilities no longer, as exhausting as they became with his odd heat condition, he retreated to the lake for respite and peace.

Thus it was often here that Eragon thought about Arya. He let his mind wander back to their last moments together face-to-face. He had asked her to stay with him until the first curve of the river, but she had interrupted him before he could express his full request by insisting that she could not stay with him. Had she wanted to? Eragon had always wondered when Arya jumped to the conclusion that he was again asking her to come with him and responded so abruptly.

Eragon remembered the feel of her arm linked with his. Actually, he remembered every time they had ever touched, accidentally or intentionally. One of his favorite memories was when Arya had almost mistakenly fallen into his arms after hearing that Oromis and Glaedr had been killed, just after she had killed the Shade Varaug. Another was when they had practiced swordsmanship under Glaedr's intensive instruction. That had been like an intricate dance ending with them collapsed side-by-side on the ground, panting for breath. Eragon had been so exhausted at the time that the thought hadn't even occurred to him, but many times since he had imagined another activity that would end with them lying next to one another, gasping for breath. Heat filled his cheeks. Or more heat, rather.

Eragon remembered placing his hand over hers after hearing Arya's anguished confession of how Fäolin's death and her imprisonment in Gil'ead had affected her. He remembered when she held his face in her hands before he went to Vroengard and kissed him on the forehead. Her lips were soft, warm, and moist. She had wished him luck. But the last time Arya had touched Eragon was burned into his memory more indelibly than any other.

They had been on the _Talíta_ , standing still while they waited for the first curve in the river. Her hood was up, so when the boat reached the bend, Eragon had pushed it off her head so he could see her eyes. He had spoken her true name to her, and Arya had repeated his to him.

Arya had once told him that choosing to share their true name with another was the most personal, precious thing a person could do and a sign of deepest trust, which is why Eragon had never understood what happened next. He had stared into her eyes a moment longer before opening his mouth to speak again. But she had stopped him. Stopped him by placing three fingers on his lips. He felt the weight of her fingers, so light and soft but like the weight of a hundred bricks, for they forbade him from saying what he feared he would never again have the chance to express: "Arya, I love you."

Tears came to Eragon's eyes, and he angrily blinked them away, frustrated by the potency of his feelings after all these years. Not only had he never been able to confess the true depth of his love for Arya, he had also never been able to give her an affectionate embrace or loving kiss.

But the anger dissipated as abruptly as the tears had appeared when a sudden revelation enlightened Eragon. After placing her fingers over his mouth to prevent him from voicing his love, Arya had stepped back and said, "Farewell, Eragon Shadeslayer." Then Fírnen had swooped down to snatch her up and she was gone. Eragon never knew if she heard his whispered "Farewell."

In the bitterness of his grief, Eragon had wept for all he was leaving behind in Alagaёsia, foremost of which was any chance to have a life with Arya, so he had failed to take note of what seemed so insignificant at the time. But as he replayed this memory now, that same irrelevant detail jumped out at him with striking force. Eragon remembered how his lips had burned under her touch, making him feel like a naughty child about to utter a bad word. He had interpreted her action to mean that Arya had no desire to hear of his feelings for her and that he must forever keep them stifled within a body and heart too small to contain them.

Whether Arya really meant that or not, Eragon realized that _he_ believed she did, and that understanding had been boiling within him ever since. He could now trace his abnormal condition of being overly hot all the time back to this instance, back to the moment he felt that he must forever bury his burning passion within his body so it would never again surface in such an inappropriate way.

Suddenly the anger was back and Eragon couldn't keep still. He began swimming, his heart rate increasing disproportionately with the activity as it pounded with emotion. The uncomfortable—no, debilitating—heat was a physical manifestation of the emotional struggle to keep his feelings for Arya in check. If that really was the case, of which Eragon felt certain, then there was nothing he could do. _Nothing_. It seemed to him that the only way to cure the intense suffering was to be with Arya, to be able to express his love for her, not only verbally but physically, emotionally, and in any other way there was to express love. But that was impossible.

Eragon had vowed never to bring his suit before Arya again, and it would do him no service to anyway. How would he look if he appeared in a scrying mirror, confessing his desire to be with her and begging her to come to him? Ridiculous, that was how. Eragon had known when he left that he would never return to Alagaёsia. But that was before he knew he would be burdened with an unbearable feeling of heat and burning every day for the rest of his life.

He screamed into the water in frustration, and Saphira's concern reached him as the power of his emotions intruded into her blissful play. _Eragon?_

 _Not now,_ Eragon growled. _I'll tell you about it later._

Nor would Arya come here. She had made it clear to him that her place was with her people as their queen, no matter that she was a Rider with a dragon. Her selfless sense of duty would never allow her to abandon that responsibility, and Eragon admired her for it as he always had but hated that it would ever be a wedge between them.

Eragon suddenly felt defeated. He was glad when his hands bumped the shore. He dragged himself out of the water and crawled towards a patch of shade on the beach, flopping down on his stomach in the sand. The heat of the sun immediately began to combine with the burning in his blood to make him miserable, but he barely felt it this time.

Eragon let the tears flow. He always had to be a model of stoicism and wisdom on the island. He, the most senior Rider though still so young, had to always seem in control. But here at the lake he let himself _feel_.

His thought about being young made Eragon once again think of Arya. Everything made him think of her, if he was honest with himself, no matter how hard he tried to avoid the thoughts. When they had parted, he was only eighteen—nearly nineteen—and quite literally, a mere child in her eyes by his age. So many times he had felt she would not overlook that. She had specifically told him that their age difference would never change.

Yet right at the end, Arya had acknowledged that Eragon had grown and she no longer saw him as a child. She had hinted that maybe given time and if his feelings remained the same, something might be able to take place between them. Since he had already known he was getting ready to leave, the hope that had given him was more painful than anything.

Now just over ten years later, Eragon was twenty-nine and fully a man by human standards. He had grown in stature and was now as tall as many of the tallest male elves and much broader, thanks to his human inheritance. But he had also increased in maturity and wisdom. In this regard, it felt more as if a lifetime had passed, for Eragon had gained immeasurable insight and experience under the constant instruction of the Eldunarí who, between them all, had thousands of lifetimes of experience. He felt sure that if Arya could see him, she would view him as a man.

But the despairing feeling of wishing for something that would never be continued to fill him, for what did it matter that he had grown and matured if he would never see Arya again? Eragon didn't think he could live with the burning heat inside for the rest of his unnaturally long life, and he knew it would never be satisfied by any other woman. He curled onto his side, drawing his knees toward his chest. The tears turned to sobs that racked his body as anguish and hopelessness and longing overwhelmed him. He was barely aware that Saphira had made her way to the shore and laid her head alongside his back.

-:-:-:-


	3. Flight

**3\. Flight**

Arya pressed even closer to Fírnen's neck, willing herself to shrink so she wouldn't feel the wind rushing around his shoulders and blasting over her body. She wore layers of thick clothing, complete with a heavy cloak pulled close around her face, and she had cast every spell she could think of to ward off the cold, split the stream of whooshing air, and preserve her body heat. But her shivering was uncontrollable and her body was so tense from it, Arya thought it would shatter into pieces.

She and Fírnen agreed that the best course of action was to fly as quickly as possible to the Isle of the Eldunarí, since flying slowly didn't decrease her sense of freezing to death. The sooner they could get there, the sooner her pain would be over. Fírnen's worry engulfed her, and he felt completely helpless to alleviate her suffering.

 _You're taking me to the one place and the one person who_ can _alleviate my suffering,_ Arya weakly thought, _so you are helping me._

 _It is my only consolation, little one,_ Fírnen fiercely replied. _I will fly you there as swiftly as any dragon ever flew._

Arya knew this was true. Right before they departed Ellesméra, Fírnen had hunted enough for him to go weeks without eating. The Eldunarí Eragon left in her care were providing Fírnen with strength, so Arya didn't think it would take weeks to get to the Isle, but Fírnen wanted to be sure. Her weight was so insignificant compared to his immense bulk that he was able to fly tirelessly day and night. They had already been in this pattern for three days, stopping only long enough for Arya to relieve herself or attempt to warm up under his wing. She ate and rested as well as she could while Fírnen flew.

The relative ease with which they arranged their parting had shocked Arya. She had approached Lord Däthedr with her dilemma and learned that the elves had long suspected that she was unwell. Arya confessed that she was constantly cold and lonely and, without mentioning anything about Eragon, had explained that she felt it was due to her isolation from the dragons and Riders. She had honestly told Däthedr that she wanted to be with the Riders but was loath to shirk her duties as queen.

Lord Däthedr, who was always like a kindly father to Arya, had taken her cold hands and spoken soothingly. He told her how he had noticed her unhappiness and suspected the very reason she gave, even her desire to be with the Riders. Däthedr admitted that he regretted pressuring Arya into accepting the crown. He wished to do something to help but feared approaching her on the subject lest it seem like he wanted the throne for himself.

The leaders and elders of the elves had met in Council and, contrary to the usual complexities and lengthy politics of establishing a new ruler, had appointed Lord Däthedr as her successor at her request and wholeheartedly supported her desire to seek out the Riders and remain with them, as seemed likely, forevermore. Arya shook her head incredulously as she thought about it.

 _If I had known it would be so easy to leave, I might have tried years ago_ , she said to Fírnen.

 _Indeed,_ he agreed. _They wanted what was best for the queen they loved. With the relative peace in the land they are happy to remain quiet and unchanging. You, however, are not as satisfied with such things. Being bonded with a dragon inevitably brings longing for adventure in the great open skies. And yet it seems the time is right. You have just come to realize the extent of your true feelings for Eragon and that he might be the only solution to the endless cold. I think that was the crucial revelation you needed before following through with your plans._

 _Yes_ , Arya hesitantly agreed. _I love Eragon. I love him._ She made herself think the words several times. Then she even went so far as to say aloud, "I love you, Eragon." She trembled as warmth rushed through her, however fleetingly. She clung to it and the hope that when she was with Eragon again, his presence would banish the unbearable chill from her bones and she wouldn't feel as empty anymore. She wanted to be sure that when the time was right, she would be able to tell Eragon with words strong and certain the true reason she had done what would seem impossible to him and come to him.

Arya had no difficulty remembering the detailed instructions Eragon had once given her of how to reach the Isle of the Eldunarí. Since Eragon had never made the trip by dragon, he wasn't sure how long it actually took, but Arya had a vague recollection that Murtagh may have mentioned that the journey took roughly a fortnight at a leisurely speed. With Fírnen's dogged pace, she hoped to make the trip in a far shorter time.

She and Fírnen had just passed the bend in the Edda River where she last saw Eragon. Arya had no idea how much farther the wilderness continued before ending in the sea, but they followed the silvery strip of the river far below them, knowing it flowed unerringly toward the ocean.

-:-:-

Days later, when Arya was certain she could bear the cold no longer, Fírnen let out a tired roar of triumph as he spotted the Isle of the Eldunarí in the distance. As they flew over the majestic, crashing waterfall where the Edda River terminated, Arya felt renewed determination. They would reach their destination, and she would soon see Eragon.

 _I want to surprise Eragon,_ Arya said to Fírnen. _I think we should try to contact Saphira and before she—and therefore he—realizes who she's talking to, implore her to keep our thoughts from Eragon's mind. Then perhaps she would be willing to fly him to meet us on the outskirts of the island where we can be alone for a time._

 _Yes, little one. I wish to see them alone at first too. As we get nearer, we will cast our minds in search of Saphira._

It took another hour and the sun was beginning to set behind them when Arya was finally able to recognize Saphira's mind among the many minds on the island. She and Fírnen were overjoyed to sense the presence of so many dragons, but as excited as he was to meet others of his own kind, Fírnen's thoughts continued to focus primarily on Saphira.

 _Do you think she has forgotten me for the dozens of other male dragons she has surely met now?_ Fírnen uneasily asked.

 _Certainly not!_ Arya reassured him. _I have never seen a handsomer dragon than you. You were her first mate, Fírnen, and though she may have asserted that dragons do not mate for life, I feel certain that her affections remain strongest for you._

 _I am one of only two, no, three male dragons you have ever seen, if you include Shruikan,_ Fírnen grumbled, but he seemed slightly more cheerful nonetheless.

 _You're forgetting Black Thunder and Blaze,_ Arya patiently reminded him of the black and yellow dragons who had hatched for Varhog and Knilf.

 _True,_ he reluctantly allowed.

Arya breathed in deeply to steady herself before reaching toward Saphira's mind. _Saphira?_

After a moment of stunned disbelief Saphira responded, _Can it be!_

 _Yes it is, but please Saphira, I want to surprise Eragon. Will you please keep this from him, if he hasn't already heard?_

Arya felt deep sadness from Eragon's dragon. Saphira's consciousness shuddered as she said, _Eragon is barely aware of me at all at the moment, so deep is his pain, Arya Svit-kona. You have come in his darkest hour. If you mean to do anything to deepen his grief, I warn you, I will not let you see him._ To prove her words Saphira shared with Arya's mind a moment of the unbearable torment Eragon was feeling.

Arya gasped, her face tightening at the agonized emotions. As she had feared, Eragon was suffering. And from what Saphira implied, he was suffering because of _her_. _I mean him no harm,_ Arya gravely responded. _Indeed, I hope to offer him some comfort if I can. I don't know what to expect, Saphira, but do you think you can bring him to meet us? Will he come with you?_

Saphira must have noticed the desperation in her thoughts because she said, _I will try, although I am not sure I can reach him right now. Where would you have us meet you?_

 _We are flying toward the island from the west and are almost to the outcropping of cliffs along that side,_ Fírnen replied in his impossibly deep voice. _Is there a suitable place for landing atop the cliffs?_

Saphira's whole consciousness changed, and Arya thought she sensed a fluttering, nervous excitement from her at the sound of Fírnen's thoughts. _Yes, the top of the cliffs is suitable for landing_ _,_ Saphira verified. _We are on the other side of the peaks at a small lake. We will not be long._

-:-:-:-


	4. Warm

**4\. Warm**

Eragon felt Saphira tentatively reach toward his mind, reluctant to intrude on his pain and longing, knowing perfectly well that he had been agonizing over Arya again and sensing he'd had some insight that had made everything worse.

 _You're right,_ Eragon bitterly thought, retreating back into his desolation before noticing that Saphira was bubbling with excitement. _Bubbling_. When was the last time that had happened? _What is it?_ he asked.

 _Will you fly with me for a moment?_

 _Why?_ he suspiciously said.

 _I want to_ show _you. Please, little one?_

 _Very well,_ Eragon relented, turning onto his back and springing lithely to his feet in one motion.

As Eragon began to climb to her back, Saphira thought, _Brush yourself off._

 _Why?_ he said, this time defensively. _Who cares if I'm covered in sand and damp all over?_

 _You might,_ Saphira mildly replied.

Eragon regarded her carefully before grudgingly running his fingers through his hair, over his chest and arms. _Better?_

Saphira curved her mouth upward in her approximation of a toothy smile, crouching for him to mount her back. _Should I saddle you?_ Eragon wondered. He had removed her saddle upon arriving at the lake so she could swim unhindered.

 _No. We will not fly far,_ Saphira answered _._ So Eragon jumped up, reaching his destination between her shoulders in two powerful leaps.

Saphira immediately sprang into the air, flapping to gain altitude as she headed straight for the peaks dividing the lake from the western edge of the island.

 _What's going on? Why are we going over here?_ Eragon pointedly asked, remembering the pain of a moment ago and not appreciating that she was flying him directly into the setting sun.

 _Patience, little one._ Eragon sensed that Saphira was doing all she could to keep something from him but why would she? He shrugged and sat upright, not wanting to lean against her sharp scales with his bare chest.

Saphira cleared the peaks in minutes and flew toward the not-so-distant cliffs. At first Eragon was blinded by the sun in his eyes, and he glared toward it, wishing at the same time that he didn't feel so much resentment toward the sun and its life-giving warmth. _I just don't need any extra warmth_ , he irritably thought.

As he glanced toward the cliffs, Eragon noticed a huge, sparkling green mound. Saphira's excitement was uncontainable then.

"What's that?" he said in confusion, having never noticed it before. Then the mound moved, raising a giant head toward the sky.

Eragon detected a small, dark speck in front of the mound, and his heart constricted in his chest. _It cannot be,_ he thought, refusing to believe—or even hope at—what his mind was telling him he saw.

Oblivious to the care of moments before, Eragon leaned forward on Saphira's neck, squinting as he focused all his effort on identifying the speck—no, figure—in front of the mound. No, not a mound, as the giant head obviously demonstrated. A dragon. He—for it could only be Fírnen—released a jet of emerald flames toward the sky followed by a deafening roar that reverberated through the air, and Saphira answered with a joyful bugle.

Then Saphira was close enough and Eragon knew he was dreaming. _Arya._

-:-:-

With the sun behind her, Arya could see Saphira approaching in majestic splendor, her glittering blue scales rivaling the sky in beauty. She had grown and was magnificent to behold. Arya held her breath as Saphira's powerful wings brought her—and _him—_ closer.

Before long, Arya could see Eragon astride Saphira's back, intently leaning forward, his bare chest pressed against her scales. Arya winced slightly at that thought but also knew Eragon was probably wholly unaware of any pain he might be feeling, judging by his focused gaze.

Arya released her breath and started breathing quickly, suddenly nervous at meeting him again. She felt as vulnerable as Eragon must have always felt before, knowing now that she loved him. But as she thought that, warmth spread weakly from her heart, and Arya was sure this was where she wanted to be. She was then impatient for Saphira to land.

And land she did but a few moments later, about thirty feet away, wings thundering and washing great gusts of wind over Arya. She flexed her knees to maintain her balance as the ground shuddered under the impact, tightly hugging her arms around her chest to ward off the cold.

Eragon formally straightened, bringing his leg over Saphira's shoulders and springing from her back. He landed the thirty feet down in a graceful crouch, his eyes fixed unwaveringly upon Arya as he slowly straightened to stand. He wore only a pair of pants—his feet and chest were bare.

Eragon stood still and staring for a _long_ moment. Then, slowly and deliberately, he closed his eyes, breaking his statuesque posture to raise one hand and rub them. Arya smiled faintly at the emotions she could see on his face—shock, denial, confusion. She could tell he was trying to master them and keep his face as still and unmoving as his body, but without success.

-:-:-

Eragon's thoughts were racing as he struggled to control his emotions. _Arya. Arya is standing right in front of me. Saphira, am I dreaming? Did I fall asleep back on the beach?_

Eragon felt Saphira's amusement. _I do not think so, little one._

 _What do I do?_ Eragon desperately thought.

 _What do you want to do?_

Eragon fought to keep the sarcasm affecting his tone from appearing on his face. _As if you don't know! Wrap her in my arms and never again let her go. But the real Arya wouldn't allow that. Only my dream Arya—a complete figment of my imagination—_ actually _likes me, likes me to display affection._

 _Do you_ know _that?_ Saphira challenged.

 _Yes!_ Eragon exclaimed. _She never welcomed such gestures before. Why should I expect anything to be different?_

 _Because she is standing right there,_ Saphira pointed out. _Something must have changed, for she once refused to come here with you._

 _But what if I try and she immediately gets on Fírnen and flies away never to return?_ Eragon demanded. _I can't lose her again, Saphira._

 _Fírnen is already unsaddled,_ Saphira stated. _Arya told me she hoped to help you._

 _What do you mean?_ Eragon cried. _You knew she was coming!_

 _No, little one,_ Saphira reassured. _Do you really think I would have been able to keep that from you any longer than the few minutes I tried? I only found out right before I asked you to fly with me. She wanted to surprise you. But I made her feel a moment of what you were going through._

 _What!_ Eragon spluttered. _You told her how I was feeling!_

 _Not_ why _you were feeling it, only that you were suffering and I could barely reach you._

Eragon heard Saphira's evasive tone. _But you clearly implied it was because of her,_ he accused. _She's smart enough to put the pieces together._

 _It may serve you to remember that she is still waiting expectantly for something to happen. She is smiling at you, little one. Perhaps start by greeting her,_ Saphira encouraged.

Eragon took a deep breath to compose himself, sure Arya had discerned something of his internal conflict simply by the length of time he had been engaged in it. He opened his eyes, catching his breath when he saw the expression Saphira had mentioned and finally breaking the silence with a strained whisper he knew she would hear. " _Arya_?"

Arya's smile widened as she lifted her hands with her palms up and answered, "Eragon, it is I. I am truly here."

Eragon closed his eyes again, resisting the urge to reach out and steady himself against Saphira's leg. _I don't know what to say,_ he confessed in panic.

 _If she comes any closer, she will hear your anxious breathing and pounding heart,_ Saphira warned, almost mockingly. _Eragon, do not be a coward. You have grown since last you saw Arya. You have never been surer of what you want, and you know as well as I what you planned to do if the opportunity ever presented itself._

 _But one wrong word might drive her away, just as before,_ Eragon argued.

 _Just start by greeting her,_ Saphira repeated. _And then you can ask her why she came._

Eragon skipped the calming breath the second time and reopened his eyes, turning his wrist over his collarbone—and feeling a stab of embarrassment when he remembered he wasn't wearing a shirt—as he spoke the first phrase of the elven greeting, "May good fortune rule over you, Arya Dröttning."

"Peace live in your heart," Arya continued, taking a step toward him. "Though I am no longer queen."

"And the stars watch over you," Eragon finished, failing to hide his surprise at her statement and keeping his arm up in an attempt to block his bare torso. "I wasn't expecting to see you today," he lamely added, mentally kicking himself for his stupidity and fighting the desire to glare at Saphira for her internal humor.

"I wanted to surprise you," Arya replied, still moving toward him.

Eragon smiled feebly. "It worked. Why did you come here, Arya?"

 _There,_ he defied Saphira. _Are you happy? Now stop laughing at me!_ He raised the arm still covering his chest to wipe his brow, feeling Saphira's amusement deepen.

 _I'm not sweating because I'm nervous!_ Eragon defended. _I'm just hot! Like always._

 _Calm down, little one,_ Saphira advised.

Eragon returned his attention to Arya when she stopped her forward march an arm's reach away from him, recognizing the uncertainty in her eyes as she studied his face and prepared a response.

-:-:-

Arya was experiencing a similar emotional upheaval. _Fírnen!_ she worried. _I've practiced, but I don't know if I'm ready . . . able . . . to tell him the truth._

 _You are capable, Arya,_ Fírnen insisted. _Being forthright will be the easiest way._

 _He might not believe me,_ Arya remarked. _I've never been one to . . . express much of any type of emotion, let alone affection. As much as he might have once wanted it, Eragon has surely tried to convince himself that a relationship with me is nearly impossible._

 _Can you see it hurting anything to at least try?_ her dragon inquired.

 _No, I suppose not,_ Arya agreed, copying Eragon by taking a deep breath to prepare herself.

Feeling that it might somehow help, Arya reached for one of Eragon's hands and finally answered, "I came to see you, Eragon."

"Why?" Eragon pressed. "A simple scrying session might have saved you a lot of trouble."

Arya bit her lip to stifle a girlish giggle. _What is_ wrong _with me!_ she lamented to Fírnen. _I'm acting like a fool!_

 _Are we not all fools in love?_ he replied in amusement.

Arya rolled her eyes, and Eragon raised his eyebrows. "Sorry," Arya quickly apologized. "That was meant for Fírnen."

"It's nice to have a sensible voice inside your head at times like these," Eragon knowingly agreed, smiling faintly. "But I wouldn't have imagined you doing that even to Fírnen."

Arya smiled in return, revealing her nervousness as she once again inhaled deeply. "He's the only one unfortunate enough to know that side of me," Arya explained. "But never mind that. Seeing you through a scrying mirror wouldn't have been enough, Eragon. That's not what I need." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What I want."

Eragon shook his head almost indiscernibly, his brow creased in confusion. "I don't understand. When have you ever done what you _want_?"

Arya opened her mouth but realized there was no answer. When _had_ she ever done what she wanted?

 _You are doing it right now,_ Fírnen urged, willing her to move forward. _You_ can _do this, Arya._

Arya took another step toward Eragon, raising her free hand and hesitantly placing it on his bare chest, which felt unbelievably warm to her. He instinctively flinched under her icy touch, but Arya could feel his heart drumming.

"Arya, you're freezing!" Eragon cried. "Why are you dressed like it's the middle of the winter?"

"Because I'm cold," Arya said. "And have been for the last ten years, starting when we parted ways. Would you like to know the only thing that warmed me in all that time?"

Eragon nodded, raising _his_ free hand to cover hers.

"Thinking your true name," Arya replied. "The pain of being constantly cold has become nearly unbearable, Eragon. It's so piercing, so wearing, never-ending, like being trapped in a howling blizzard wearing only a light shirt and leggings and so much worse than any torture I have ever endured, which always eventually came to an end. I tried every possible remedy, every means with which I am familiar to end the suffering, but to no avail. Your true name was my clue, pointing me toward what I believe is the only solution to my problem."

Arya paused, warring with the fiercely independent part of herself, the one that stubbornly insisted she could remain alone for the rest of her long life and finally subduing it when she managed to finish, "I . . . I think I need . . . your help."

"May I offer it?" Eragon formally asked, and Arya saw his tender concern, his cautious hope.

"Please," Arya whispered, now fighting back the ridiculous tears threatening to make an appearance in anticipation of at last finding reprieve from a decade of misery. She took the final step, closing the small gap between them.

Eragon lifted the hand holding hers and rested it on his chest by the other before moving both of his arms around her shoulders and gently drawing her into him. Arya couldn't hold back the tears, nor the sigh of relief, as she pressed her face into Eragon's neck, feeling his unusually heightened body temperature penetrate through her thick layers of clothing. She slid her hands around his back, pulling herself more tightly against him, feeling almost desperately grateful for the respite from the endless chill.

-:-:-

Eragon held Arya in speechless disbelief, lowering his face to her hair where he could smell her beautiful fragrance, running his hands along her back to warm her. _Now I know I'm dreaming,_ he commented to Saphira. _This is how my dream Arya would act._

 _No, little one,_ Saphira disagreed. _This is really Arya, and you actually did just enfold her in your arms. It sounded to me like she would prefer for you to never let her go._

Eragon smiled, and as his emotions suddenly caught up with him, his eyes brimmed with tears. Arya was on the Isle, in his arms, cooling the unendurable heat in his blood in the way only she could. "Arya," he whispered in a voice choked with feeling. "I missed you so much. I'm so relieved you are here, no matter the true reason."

Arya only nodded, apparently content to remain where she was as she borrowed his body heat.

 _You little ones seem to be getting on quite well_ , Saphira happily observed before informing Eragon, _I think Fírnen and I might enjoy a reunion of our own, but we will leave so as not to embarrass you with the forwardness of our dragon ways._

 _Enjoy yourself, Saphira,_ Eragon indulgently thought, aware of his dragon skirting him to join Fírnen behind Arya. _And stay out of my head. I would be too envious feeling such things from you right now._

Saphira snorted in response as she and Fírnen dove off the cliffs, flapping away toward the mainland.

Arya had relaxed in his arms, breathing calmly and evenly. Eragon once again felt the awkwardness of being shirtless and wondered that Arya didn't appear to mind. Surely such a thing would seem uncomfortably intimate to her.

He apologized, "Forgive me for being thus attired. I suffered with the opposite problem for the last ten years—that of being constantly and unbearably hot. I can't stand to wear a shirt or tunic in the middle of the summer without becoming a miserable, sweating mess in a matter of minutes, and as I said, I didn't expect to see you. But the coolness of your skin is a welcome relief."

-:-:-

Arya smiled against his neck. They were opposites who, when brought together, created a comfortable warmth for each other. A perfect match.

Arya had thought it strange that Eragon's chest was bare. But stranger still, she didn't mind her current location. Stranger even still was her realization that she very much _enjoyed_ being held against his bare chest.

Eragon was, thus unclothed, much different from an elf, though his face strikingly resembled an elf's, with the pointed ears and slanting, cat-like eyes and eyebrows he received along with the dragons' gift of healing at the Blood-oath Celebration. But he was more rugged than an elf, his jaw wider and stronger. Handsomer, Arya thought.

Without his shirt, however, the similarities ended. Yes, he was lean and muscular like an elf, but broader and bulkier, with larger muscles. And his chest was covered in a layer of soft, dark, curling hair that felt like a warm blanket to Arya as she nestled against it. Definitely human.

Once they had stood eye to eye, but Arya could tell he had grown. Eragon was now several inches taller, and his chin would have rested on the top of her head had he been standing upright, which he wasn't. Instead, he curled around her, his face buried in her hair while he used one hand to gently stroke her.

He was stronger too. Where Arya once believed they might have been equally matched in strength, she could tell reaching full adulthood had given him the power of a grown man, magnified beyond even that by his bond with Saphira. She knew she wouldn't be able to escape his embrace if she tried to before he let her go, but she didn't want to.

Arya had seen many embraces among humans and dwarves during her time as ambassador to the Varden. She remembered her initial discomfort at the open display of affection and how it was treated so casually. And yet over time, the gesture had grown on her, a sentiment that was only strengthened as the recipient of an embrace like this.

Eragon said nothing again for a long while. Minutes, hours—Arya couldn't tell which. He eventually stilled his hands from their soothing efforts of warming her, lifting one to press the side of her face against his throat. His heart had pounded loudly at first, and Arya discovered that she liked the sound. But as the minutes passed, it slowed, becoming steady and reassuring.

Arya closed her eyes and listened to his deep, even breathing, relishing the warmth that filled her whole body. She couldn't remember ever feeling this warm, not even before her strange malady began, and she was perfectly relaxed.

 _What a strange creature I am,_ she thought. Arya had always believed that being in love would somehow make her weaker. Even when she knew her feelings for Fäolin were stronger than friendship, she could never bring herself to admit to herself or him that she loved him, thinking her duty as ambassador prevented her from enjoying the luxury of an intimate relationship. Duty had always prevented her from opening herself to love. Her insufferable sense of duty.

And Arya realized she had continued to carry that idea as Eragon's affection for her had grown, seeing it as an inexcusable distraction from his important responsibilities and feeling insulted that such a young, immature _human_ would dare consider himself worthy of her.

 _No, he never considered himself worthy of me_ , she thought with a feeling of shame. Eragon had always believed that he shouldn't dare aspire to being loved by her, yet he had continued to improve himself with the hope that one day, if he worked hard enough, she would change her opinion of him and see him as a man, not a child.

It had indeed happened. Arya felt honored to have won the love of this man, but she suddenly worried again that his feelings might have changed. Maybe he was holding her merely to warm her, and she realized that she had best not assume anything.

Arya also felt humbled that she could admit she loved him, at least to herself, though she hadn't yet voiced the words aloud. She needed to tell him, to dispel any insecurity he still harbored, so she shifted, trying to muster her courage.

But Eragon unexpectedly said, "I've always loved the way you smell. Like fresh pine needles."

Arya blushed, surprised her body had enough excess heat to accomplish it. In her mind, it was a very intimate thing to say, implying he had noticed more than once that she smelled a certain way and had remembered it. Loved it, even. She lifted her face away from his neck, and Eragon straightened.

As Arya regarded him, she noticed his look of dismay and realized Eragon thought he had gone too far. Now he probably believed she was going to reprimand him, like she always had when he said such things before.

Eragon hastily said, "I'm sorry, Arya. I shouldn't have . . ."

"Eragon," Arya started to comfort, anxious to say the words that would remove that look from his eyes and assure him such things whispered to her were now welcome. "I didn't mi—"

But Eragon interrupted her by pressing his fingers to her lips, and Arya saw his face harden in firm resolve.

"Arya, before you say anything, I must speak," Eragon began. "I have suffered pain and misery I didn't know I could bear while being apart from you, and I discovered today that it began that moment ten years ago when you prevented me, for whatever reason, from saying what I meant to say. I vowed to myself that I would never again bring my desires before you unless by some unlikely chance we happened to find ourselves together in person once more. And if that happened, I promised I would say it only once so it could finally be said and there would be no doubt, then or ever after, of the way I felt. Feel." He swallowed and took a deep breath, his dark brown eyes intense and fervent as he moved his fingers from her lips to cup her cheek in his hand.

"Arya, I love you. When my feelings for you first began, it was out of a boyish fascination with your beauty and mystery. They grew and matured until the time we parted, when I was sure what I felt was pure and honest love. But even then I was mistaken, for now, after all these years of being apart, my longing for you, my desire to share my life with you, to share your burdens and pains, to protect you, and to do all I can to bring you joy has only deepened. And now I know that I truly love you more than anything else and always will. My regard will only get stronger, more certain, and more enduring with time. I know it's not customary for elves to express affection in the same manner as humans, but I must do this at least once to be true to my heart and to attempt in one final way to impress upon you the sincerity of my words and feelings."

Arya held absolutely still as Eragon finally released his hold of her waist and brought that hand up to caress her other cheek. They were strong, calloused, rough hands, like she remembered, but so gentle and careful right then.

 _You_ want _this, Arya,_ she reminded, once again struggling with the protective part of herself, which demanded that she close up and rebuff him. _This is why you came, and he just confessed that he still loves you. Let him show it. Allow yourself to be loved._

Eragon paused, perhaps sensing her struggle and clearly determined to respect her wishes if she truly didn't want him to proceed. When he found no sign of denial, for Arya had stubbornly subdued it, he curled his fingers behind her neck and tilted her face toward his, gazing into her eyes until just before his lips reached hers. Arya closed her eyes as he did, accepting his tender kiss, feeling the strength of his passion, the depth of his sincerity, and that he was begging her to accept him.

After only a moment, Eragon released Arya, but she didn't pull away, immobilized by the overpowering warmth coursing through her body.

 _Do it again,_ Arya found herself wishing, still unsure how to return his affection but knowing she had never felt anything so marvelous in her whole life. She brought her hands around to rest on his chest, staring at them as she attempted to order her jumbled emotions. But her eyes drifted to Eragon's torso, and the same unfamiliar attraction seized her. _I_ want _him_ , Arya realized in shock. _Which is normal,_ she then reasoned. _Because you love him. And he loves you. Isn't that the natural next step?_

Eragon used one finger to raise her chin. "You acted like you didn't mind," he said in a soft voice that sent shivers up her spine. Or maybe it was just how close his lips were. "Did I misunderstand?"

Arya shook her head, mirroring his earlier actions by holding his face in her hands. "Eragon," she earnestly said, followed by his true name. She felt his body tremble in response and stared straight into his eyes, continuing to speak in the ancient language so he would know she wasn't lying. "I love you. I love you, Eragon." After her realization, professing her feelings seemed the simplest thing in the world.

Eragon trembled again, and tears filled his eyes. "That's what I wanted to say before," Arya went on, "but I'm glad you interrupted me because your speech was the loveliest thing I have ever heard, and in your kiss, I felt more love than I believed it was possible for one person to feel. I'm thrilled, _so thrilled_ , that you still feel the same as you did, that you have forgiven my stubbornness and continue to accept me with all of my weaknesses. I'm honored to have your love, and when I finally admitted to myself the way I truly feel about you, I longed to be with you, never to be parted again."

Eragon's eyes widened as Arya spoke, and she saw that he dearly wanted to trust her. Though he would know her words in the ancient language were true, the way he searched her eyes made it clear that he believed she might be hiding her meaning.

Arya returned his solemn gaze a moment longer, then laughed at him, which brought a smile to his face. "You don't believe me?" she wondered.

"I want to believe you more than anything I have ever wanted," Eragon answered. "But I've imagined this happening so many times, only to awaken and feel the fresh despair that it was all just a dream and you were still thousands of miles away. Whenever that happens, which is depressingly often, it's like leaving and losing you all over again." His voice was low by the end, and Arya realized just how much pain their separation had caused him.

"I keep fearing I'll wake up," Eragon finished.

Arya circled her arms around his neck, hoping that if _she_ initiated the kiss, it might convince him. Eragon was right that kissing wasn't a common way for elves to show affection. Elves didn't have many ways of doing that, considering it impropriety, though it would likely be present if two elves decided to be mates for however long. But Arya's first exposure just moments before had introduced her to the enjoyment of the expression, leaving her anxious to experience it again.

As she pressed her lips to his, Arya allowed herself to be swallowed in his touch and smell and taste, which surrender was also a very new thing for her. But rather than feeling vulnerable, she was amazed to discover that she felt empowered. Powerful that she had such an effect on Eragon, for she could hear his heart rate increasing, his breathing deepen. Eragon hesitantly worked his hands around to the front of her body before pulling back, his jaw clenched and hands fixed on her shoulders, apology in his eyes.

"Eragon, I _want_ to do this," Arya breathed, and the way he raised his eyebrows clearly demonstrated that he was still unable to believe her. She sighed impatiently and began unbuttoning her thick traveling coat, feeling stifled by its excessive heat now that Eragon was sharing his.

Eragon reached for her hands to stop her. "So do I," he said, fully in control. "More than I can possibly say. But not like this. I know elves often choose who they want to be with, even if only for a day, but I like the customs of my race in this instance. Though the words or concepts might be meaningless to you, if you do not object, I would prefer to be bound to you first, to prove that I intend to remain committed to you for as long as I am alive."

Arya thought about Roran and Katrina as she recognized the same depth of devotion in Eragon's eyes that she had often seen in theirs. She had always envied them that. Perhaps she needed to no longer, but she felt a nervous clenching in her gut as she warily asked, "What are you saying, Eragon?"

Eragon took a deep breath, cautiously answering, "I'm saying that I want to marry you. How do you feel about that, Arya? If I ask, will you close up again?"

"I . . . I need a moment," Arya replied. Fírnen was suddenly in her mind, courteously sparing her any awareness of what he was doing.

 _What do I do?_ Arya anxiously wondered, fighting the building alarm.

 _What do you want, little one?_ Fírnen asked. _You told Eragon when he asked you why you came here, recognized your desire for him even more recently. You want him in the way a mated couple would. Why not allow him to become your mate in the way that is meaningful to him? His desire is to show his loyalty and love. Is there any harm in that?_

 _No,_ Arya answered, _but it seems so sudden and permanent._

Fírnen mentally snorted. _Little one,_ he chided, _you made the most significant decision of your life in coming here, relinquishing all other duties to follow your heart. Do you plan on returning? Do you see yourself changing your mind? I think Eragon has sufficiently proven his devotion. Would you be ashamed to be his wife?_

 _No!_ Arya exclaimed. _But am I ready for this?_

 _Only moments ago you were ready to give yourself to Eragon,_ Fírnen reminded. _You would do that, but not first bind yourself to him according to human tradition? For so long—because of the heartache and loss you have endured—you have guarded your heart, insisting that you can be happy on your own, but have you ever truly been happy? You stubbornly claim that you are strong enough by yourself, and you_ are _strong, Arya. Of that there is no question, but your heart had to get your attention by creating intense and chronic physical suffering for a full decade. You were not able to overcome that on your own, and for nothing less would you have considered leaving your duties behind. You have now personally experienced that Eragon was the only true remedy for your pain. And there were many times during the war that he rescued you from life-threatening situations you could not escape yourself. There is nothing wrong with allowing yourself to need another person. And as you have learned, surrendering to and accepting Eragon's affection has done nothing but empower you. If it is important to Eragon, does he not deserve the respect of becoming your husband before your lover? Though I am a dragon and we have no such customs, I appreciate that Eragon desires to honor you in this way._

 _Yes,_ Arya agreed, _it is honorable of him. I can see your wisdom, Fírnen. And I did come here to be with Eragon because I love him. Marriage may not hold the same meaning for me, but I owe him at least this much after how long and patiently he awaited this time. I don't see how delaying an engagement would benefit anyone, so we may as well go forward._

 _Then tell him,_ Fírnen gently counseled. _He is patiently waiting yet again._

Arya nodded, raising her eyes to Eragon's from where they had vacantly gazed during her conversation with Fírnen. Eragon didn't look discouraged or upset, only understanding, and Arya realized that he was the closest friend she had, someone who understood her true nature—flaws and all—unlike anyone else and who still accepted and loved her. Why should she be nervous to share her life with him as his wife? She knew Eragon would continue to honor and love her forever. What was so bad about that? How many other women could claim such a thing?

"Forgive me, Eragon, for taking so long," Arya finally said. "I'm embarrassed to admit that this was the first time I have ever seriously contemplated marriage. Realizing and admitting I love you must have been all I could process at one time."

"I understand, Arya. But now isn't the first time that I realized I want to marry you. I've known it for some time. I can keep waiting, if you would prefer."

"I don't," Arya reassured. "I don't see how delaying would profit us anything. I'm prepared for you to ask." She smiled encouragingly.

"Even with that guarantee, I'm still nervous," Eragon confessed with a wry grin. "Here we go." He dropped to one knee, taking her hands in his before calmly asking, "Arya, will you marry me? In whatever way you see fit, will you allow me to be yours? Will you have me as I am and as I will become in my quest to always remain worthy of you?" He whispered his final request with such vulnerability that Arya's heart nearly broke. "Will you be mine, Arya?"

Arya realized how difficult it must have been for him to ask her that. He was completely at her mercy, and she knew her answer had the power to fill him with joy or utterly devastate him.

With the same unwavering tone of voice Arya responded, "Yes, Eragon, I will marry you. I will accept you as you are and intend to become, if you will have me as I am and hope to be. I will love and cherish you for the rest of my life. And I will be yours, Eragon." Her voice dropped as her heart soared. "I _want_ to be yours."

Eragon searched her face again, slowly smiling, his expression so purely happy that it took Arya's breath away. _So this is what it feels like to love and be loved,_ she thought in amazement, wondering that she had prevented herself from ever experiencing such joy before.

"Thank you, Arya." Eragon kissed her hands before continuing, "Will you join me down here? I need to sleep. This has been an emotional day, and you also look exhausted. Will you please stay with me? I promise to behave, I just can't bear the thought of being separated again. And I'll keep you warm." He smiled again, eyebrows raised hopefully.

Arya thought him so handsome. The burdens of his task in Alagaёsia had weighed so heavily upon him, she realized that she had never seen him unburdened by the stress of so much responsibility, doubt of success, or sorrow at having to leave her behind.

"I'll stay," Arya murmured, smiling faintly as she sat beside Eragon. "I also don't want to be apart."

Eragon brushed her cheek with the fingers of one hand. "You're so beautiful, Arya," he said, and she recognized the longing in his countenance. But he resumed his previous train of thought with, "I can lie on my back and you can use my chest as a pillow, or I can lie on my side and you can rest your head on my arm." He motioned toward a side-lying position where she assumed his body would be curled around hers, his arm draped protectively over her side.

Arya liked that image so she playfully said, "On your side if you please," while her mouth quirked mischievously. Arya was amazed by how lighthearted she was acting, which seemed very out of character for her. But overcoming her lifelong struggle to subjugate her feelings to her stuffy sense of duty was somehow very liberating, and she was seeing a totally different side of herself, one _she_ didn't even know about.

Eragon also seemed surprised by her unprecedented behavior, but he made no comment or objection as he promptly lay down on his side, extending his arm out to welcome her into his embrace.

Arya noticed that Eragon awkwardly held his head away from the ground, so before lying down, she summoned her cloak from the pile she had left in front of Fírnen's saddle, offering it to Eragon as a pillow.

"Thank you," Eragon said, accepting the cloak and stuffing it under his head. Once Arya had laid down, Eragon waited for her to lay her head on his arm before questioning, "Are you more comfortable if I stretch my arm out straight or curl it under?" He left it extended for a moment before bending it under. His bicep rippled, causing her head to bob.

She laughed at the feeling, responding, "Either way is fine. Which is most comfortable for you?"

Eragon sounded embarrassed. "Sorry. I don't think much about my muscles until they do something like that. I prefer this way better," he answered, referring to his arm being bent at the elbow. So she snuggled closer to his chest as he pulled his legs up and rested one arm over her.

Arya breathed in deeply, already feeling relaxed, comfortable, and warm. She hadn't felt this way in a long time, not even nestled next to Fírnen. _Because I needed Eragon to complete me,_ she thought to herself. _It's good to need him._ Here was another view that had changed almost effortlessly, it seemed, once she had given herself permission to open up to another person.

Eragon nestled his face against her hair and almost before she thought it possible, his breathing became deep and even. Arya reached for his mind with her own and, while leaving her thoughts entirely unguarded, experimented with her newfound openness by saying, _I love you, Eragon Shadeslayer_ , followed by his true name. She was deeply grateful that his feelings for her were such a central part of it.

Eragon hadn't been quite asleep, so when Arya touched his thoughts, she felt that he was startled and cautious. She had never let him into her mind like that, always blocking it to some extent, even when they were intentionally thinking with one another to communicate.

He echoed her thought back to her when he was able. _I love you, Arya Shadeslayer,_ along with her true name, though she felt his sense of panic when it no longer resonated as it once had. Had he forgotten it?

Arya reflected on her true name and realized it no longer was true. Finally she said, _You have changed my very being, Eragon. My true name has also changed, and I suspect you have a more central role in it than before._ She turned her head to kiss his arm. _Will you help me discover it anew?_

 _Yes,_ he fervently promised.

 _But not now_ , Arya insisted as exhaustion pulled her toward her waking dreams. And she felt her hair being tugged between her head and his arm. She shifted to lift her torso, and Eragon raised his arm so she could reach back and pull her long locks out from under her body, holding them twisted together. _My hair,_ she thought. _Where should I put it? It was getting pulled a moment ago._

 _I'm sorry,_ Eragon said, taking her hair. _I'll hold it while you situate yourself._ Arya felt how gentle he was and—through his mind—how much he loved her hair as he waited for her to get comfortable again. Then he spread her dark tresses over his neck, shoulder, and arm, attempting to cover as much of himself as he could. _I could get used to this_ , he thought, and Arya felt that he savored how soft and light it was against his bare skin.

And then—because the contact between their minds felt so natural and he seemed to forget about it for a moment—Eragon unintentionally let himself imagine the time after their marriage when he would allow the passion he felt for her to extend to the joining of their bodies in the most intimate expression of love.

Arya remained within his mind, silently witnessing how he pictured that experience. Tears filled her eyes and a few splashed onto his bent arm—her pillow—as she felt his gentleness and reverence for her body and that union. His top arm tightened around her during his fantasy, and the sudden evidence of her tears made him realize that she had just observed everything he had been thinking.

But to her surprise, Eragon didn't apologize or even act embarrassed, nor did she think he needed to. _I'm excited to share that with you, be that close,_ Eragon explained.

 _Yes, I am too,_ Arya honestly replied, allowing her admiration and respect to reach him as she felt the honor that _this_ man—this patient, heroic, loyal man—loved _her._ Then she teasingly thought, _Your fantasy just now seemed remarkably well rehearsed._

Eragon chuckled softly, enveloping her in the soothing sound. _You have no idea how many times I've imagined doing that with you, Arya. Countless. When I was sixteen and first met you, my fantasies were obviously more lustful as I dreamed about enjoying your perfection for my own selfish gratification. For years now, however, as my feelings have developed to what they are, it has been painful imagining intimacy. It seems the natural next step in expressing how deeply I adore you and how devotedly I'll always cherish you. It was painful because I was certain—so pathetically sure—we would never do that. But my burning passion for you has only intensified._

 _Surely you would have eventually found someone to share that with,_ Arya insisted.

 _There_ is _no one else, Arya_. _If you had never come, I would have remained a frustrated, lovelorn bachelor for the thousands of years I'll likely live. Perhaps when I reached my five hundredth year, the insufferable burning would have begun to cool. . . ._ He paused as she giggled.

Arya felt through Eragon's mind that he instantly adored the sound, and it must have been the first time he had ever heard it. Arya realized that it very well might have been the first time in her adult life that she had _ever_ giggled.

Eragon laughed with her and continued, _But even that might be a generous estimate. Though by then, hopefully you would have finally thought me old enough._

Arya laughed again. _Thank goodness I came to my senses when I did. Five hundred years we might have lost. That would have been unforgiveable. Ten was nearly enough to send me to my grave._

Eragon turned his face toward her hair, breathing deeply. He kissed the back of her head and tenderly thought, _I love you, beautiful Arya. Sleep now, my love. I will keep you safe and warm._ Arya smiled at his endearment. It felt completely natural.

They drifted into their waking dreams as one, finally where they felt they belonged—safe and loved in each other's arms and reassured by the fact that even after their dreams ended, this reality would continue.

* * *

 **A/N:** I habitually haven't left many A/N's in this story, but I wanted to add one here. As it is one of the most frequent comments/criticisms I have received, I want to ensure you that I am keenly aware that many readers of this story find my depiction of Eragon, and especially Arya, out of character. If you happen to agree, I apologize for interpreting Arya differently (and possibly even totally misunderstanding her) and for believing she could develop into a character who, within ten years of their separation, would admit she loved Eragon and leave behind everything for him. This evolution was realistic in my mind because Arya already seemed to be feeling greater affection for Eragon by the end of _Inheritance_ and because she had been suffering the entire ten years. But when they parted ways, she had just agreed to become queen and wouldn't immediately abandon that responsibility, nor was she yet to the point of feeling deeply enough for Eragon to make such a weighty decision (again, all my interpretation).

I disagree with one of my guest reviewers that people don't just get married after ten years. On the contrary, it seems that if one knew he was in love for an entire decade, as Eragon did in my story, he would be more anxious than ever to move on to the next stage as soon as he was sure his beloved felt the same, which is why I have Eragon propose right after Arya professes her love. But I fully accept any and all opinions regarding this story and thank you for even beginning to read it in the first place. Whether it seems likely or not, commitment to believability—within the framework of IC canon or according to my own personal views—was foremost in my mind during the writing of this story, but since we all understand and interpret stories so differently, it isn't surprising that my portrayal doesn't work for others. And it also might help to know that my main priority was to reunite Eragon and Arya, not to agonize over their ten-year separation and accompanying character development. So forgive me if it felt too rushed and if they seemed too open. It worked for me. If you feel strongly enough about it, I would wholeheartedly support your choice to stop reading right now. I've added a few more thoughts about this topic in my profile under my P.P.S., if you care to read them.

I agree with that same guest reviewer that the fic _They say the World was built for two_ by AryaNuanen _,_ which I have read, is a beautiful story. And it takes Eragon and Arya's relationship at a much slower pace (their separation is a hundred years) and is therefore far more believable and satisfying for many readers. If that sounds more to your liking, I would highly recommend checking it out, especially since the author is not a native English speaker but her writing is quite lovely.


	5. Morning

**5\. Morning**

Arya awakened before Eragon the following morning. The first thing she noted was that Saphira and Fírnen had returned. Their heads were side by side, their tails intertwined, and each dragon curled behind their Rider, forming a protective circle in their sleep.

Then Arya noticed how she and Eragon had ended up after the hours of shifting during their rest. They were in the position he had first suggested the evening before. Eragon was lying on his back, and Arya was snuggled next to him with her head on his shoulder and her arm across his body. Eragon had kept his promise in the last words he had thought to her, _I will keep you safe and warm_ , for his arms were clasped around her back, providing a steady source of warmth and comfort.

Arya experienced a moment of embarrassment when she became aware of the location of her leg, which she had drawn up toward herself as she liked to do in sleep. But given the presence of Eragon in this equation, it had ended up in rather uncomfortable proximity to the sensitive area where his legs met. Arya debated whether she should move it and risk waking him or remain still and hope he wouldn't notice. She opted for the latter, settling into his arms as she mused over the experiences of the previous day.

Her thoughts ended up on the final moments before sleep had taken them when Eragon had imagined the intimate physical union they would create once married. From everything Arya had observed about it over the course of her long life, it was a very powerful experience. Strong enough to bind the wandering, adventurous hearts of men to a wife and home and family, at least among dwarves and humans.

While obviously familiar with the less committed customs of her people, Arya wasn't surprised that Eragon wanted to marry before engaging in this expression. Two elves might come together and share that union only for a day if they so chose, but Arya thought she understood Eragon's reasoning that such a powerful emotional connection should be based upon some foundation of commitment. She knew Eragon simply wanted to honor her according to the human customs he had grown up with. Of course, many elven couples remained together for much longer than a human lifetime, but Arya saw no harm in a ceremony involving the exchange of vows if it was important to Eragon.

In spite of her attempt to remain still so as not to awaken Eragon, Arya eventually found that she had to move, for her neck ached painfully. She carefully shifted, raising her chin to find a different impression on Eragon's chest. She also wanted to see his face.

As she studied it, Arya noticed a faint shadow on the lower half of Eragon's cheeks, chin, jaw, and upper neck. Aside from a vague memory that he might have had sparse, wispy whiskers during their first journey to Ellesméra, she had never seen him with facial hair before. Arya was so fascinated and curious about what Eragon's stubble felt like that she lifted her hand, placing it on his cheek and gently stroking. The hair felt rough and prickly, but Arya liked it because of the way it made him different from an elf.

Eragon stirred then, and Arya removed her hand, but he caught it and returned it to his face. "This isn't a dream is it?" he asked, peering at her through one, half-opened eye. "Because I'm going back to sleep if it is."

"No, I'm real," Arya replied with a smile. She shifted her position, propping herself up on her elbow and furtively sliding her leg down. She hoped Eragon hadn't noticed.

But he had. "An interesting placement of your leg," Eragon murmured, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He moved one of his arms under his head so he could see her better.

Arya blushed. "I like to sleep like that," she defended, "but with you there . . . . Well, I've never had to think about it before."

"I like seeing you blush," Eragon said, grinning more widely.

Arya cleared her throat to regain her composure, and Eragon laughed. The pleasant sound coaxed a small smile onto her face, which had begun to crease into a scowl in response to her awkwardness.

"So what do you think of my stubble?" Eragon asked, stroking her hand, which he still held at his cheek.

"I like it," Arya responded. "But save for our very first journey to Ellesméra, I don't remember you ever having facial hair, and we often travelled or fought together." Though Arya clearly knew that human and dwarven men grew facial hair, having been around men and dwarves with impressive beards the better part of her life, Eragon looked enough like an elf that Arya must have taken for granted that his face was smooth.

Eragon explained, "When I began my training with Oromis, my facial hair had just begun to be noticeable, but it was too sparse for me to grow a beard. He informed me that until such time as I was capable of growing a beard, I was to shave it each morning and bathe to clean myself. I'm sure you _do_ remember my odor during our travels," he remarked with a rueful grimace. Arya only smiled.

"Anyway," Eragon continued, "Oromis provided me with some shaving instruments to accomplish the task, but I cut myself badly on my first attempt, much to Saphira's concern. After healing the wound, I thought of a spell that would remove the whiskers and have used it ever since. It's more of a habit than anything now. It takes such little time and causes no unpleasant irritation, so I just keep doing it every morning. Would you like me to now?"

"No, I really do like it. You look handsome. Not that you don't look handsome with a smooth face because you do. It's just different . . . and feels manly and . . ." Arya trailed off awkwardly, blushing even deeper.

Eragon laughed loudly this time, kissing her cheek as he sat up. "Very well. I'll keep it for you, my love. I have rarely seen you embarrassed before, and it feels like we've reversed roles. I seem to remember that _I_ was always the one stumbling over words and blushing at my clumsiness."

Arya shrugged. "I'm new to being in love. I should be allowed a few graceless moments."

"You have my permission to be as awkward as you wish as often as you like," Eragon said with mock solemnity. "And how do you feel this morning?"

Arya thought for a moment. "Wonderful. I haven't slept that well since . . . well, ever. I was warm for the first time in ten years but aside from that, I've never been as relaxed or peaceful. But I _am_ hungry. And thirsty."

"Aye," Eragon agreed. "And I need to relieve myself."

Arya raised her eyebrows, aghast, and the blush that hadn't fully left her cheeks the moment before deepened to its darkest hue yet.

Eragon challenged her with a roguish grin. "Don't you too?"

Arya coughed. "Yes, if you _must_ know, but at least I had the decency not to mention it in front of you!"

Eragon's body shook with the effort of containing his mirth. "Elves and their overdeveloped sense of propriety," he said with an amused shake of his head. "It's not as if I was asking you to do it in front of me. Arya, we mean to marry. Why pretend away the baser urges of existence?"

"I'm not pretending them away," Arya retorted. "It's just unnecessary to discuss it! Never mind." She ended with a huff, pushing him with both hands.

Eragon laughed loudly, catching her hands and lifting her to her feet as he rose. "I'm only teasing, Arya. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable." He briefly hugged her and suggested, "How about you go behind Fírnen and I go behind Saphira? We'll both have our privacy, and their snoring will muffle any sounds . . ."

He laughed again as she rolled her eyes, continuing to look appalled. "Now I have the honor of getting to know this side of you," Eragon observed. "I was hoping you might soon roll your eyes at me."

Arya said nothing as she spun on her heel and marched away from him toward Fírnen, but she wasn't as offended as she let on. Eragon had surprised her, but Arya enjoyed his openness. He seemed comfortable around her, unconcerned about the stuffiness of elven decorum. And she had never seen him so happy, laughing every few seconds, teasing and enjoying her.

After attending to the business Eragon jokingly referenced, Arya retrieved refreshment from her saddlebags and returned to the circle between the dragons, where Eragon awaited her. She sat in front of him, setting the food and drink down between them and choosing some fruit for herself.

Eragon reached for the water and drank deeply before asking, "What shall we do today?" Then he began eating some bread.

"Won't someone be missing you?"

"They won't worry too much. I know the island better than anyone, and there's nothing that could hurt me. If they really want to, someone will come searching for or scry me. But none of my responsibilities are so important that the others can't fulfill them while I spend a few days with you. Murtagh, Varhog, and Knilf know as much as I about being a Dragon Rider."

"Having no duties to worry about feels so different," Arya mused. "I think I like it. I feel so free."

"I was very surprised yesterday when you said you are no longer the queen," Eragon confessed. "Are the elves expecting you back anytime soon?" He tried to appear indifferent, but Arya knew he was worried about her answer by the way he studied her.

"No," she replied. "I named Lord Däthedr my successor, and the Council unanimously approved. They were worried about my health. I told them I wanted to come be with the dragons and Riders, that Fírnen was lonely living in isolation from the rest of his race. Which is true, I just didn't say anything about you. As far as they're concerned, I won't ever be returning. Ellesméra was duller and quieter than ever with the threat of Galbatorix removed. I fear I was shortsighted when I agreed to be queen. I must have thought I'd be content to sit idly upon the throne and never do anything exciting again."

The tension in Eragon's body disappeared during her explanation like a weight lifting from his shoulders. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, and Arya knew it was an understatement. They ate in silence for a few moments, and when they were finished, he repeated his question. "What shall we do?"

"How about you show me some of the island. Is it large? How far are we from the city?"

"The island is large. I'd guess it would take us a little over a fortnight to walk to the stronghold from our current location. It's on the eastern end of the Isle as far from here as possible. If we ran it might take just under a week. It only takes a few hours to fly here from the city, though the term city is misleading. There are only around three dozen inhabitants on the Isle, at least of the two-legged species. There are more dragons, but most of the wild dragons have made their homes on neighboring islands."

Eragon glanced at her apologetically. "Beyond those peaks is a valley with a lake. Lake Arya. I was at liberty to name it whatever I wanted. It was my only respite from the strains of my responsibilities, which were made so much more burdensome by the excessive heat I always felt. Since the lake is the most beautiful place here, it reminded me of you, so the name seemed fitting."

Arya smiled. "I'm honored. Would you show it to me?"

Eragon returned her smile. "Of course. That would be convenient because I left my things there yesterday when Saphira asked me to fly with her somewhere." He shuddered. "What I was going through at the time was unbearable. I'd just had the realization that the burning heat I always felt was a result of your action when we parted ways. I wanted to tell you that I loved you because I thought I'd never again have the chance. And when you stopped me, I interpreted it to mean that I had to keep my feelings for you forever buried inside of me. It's still hard for me to grasp how dramatically things have changed in less than a day."

Arya shook her head, also remembering what she had felt of Eragon's misery through Saphira's mind. She took his hand. "I'm sorry for what you were going through and that I was the cause. Saphira made me feel it and threatened not to let me see you if I intended to make it worse." She frowned remorsefully.

"The cause was the cure," Eragon replied, lifting her hand to kiss it. "I'm only glad you came when you did, that you came at all. I never thought it would happen, and I'm not sure I would have endured much longer. But Saphira would have never been able to keep me from you. Once I found out you were here, I would have crippled her with Brisingr before letting her stand in my path to reach you, no matter what your intentions were."

"Indeed? Harmed your dragon? That's serious, Eragon," Arya chided. "At least I finally acknowledged what I needed to do. I struggled to overcome my sense of obligation to the elves, but Fírnen helped me realize that my more important duty was to myself—my health and my feelings—which I have always ignored. He also longed to be here with the dragons where he would enjoy greater freedom. Good thing we had them to look out for us while we were apart." Eragon nodded. "So how do we get to the lake?"

"I suppose we could ask our dragons to take us, but if you don't object, I think I'd prefer to run," Eragon said. "Now that I don't feel such an insufferable burning in my blood, I want to _run_. It has been some time since I have."

"I understand exactly what you mean," Arya agreed. "But I couldn't run because the press of the wind on my body made me so cold that I always had to stop. No amount of exertion ever lessened it." She shivered as she remembered, glad the consuming chill was already becoming a distant memory. "Let me pack these things in my saddlebags and ask Fírnen to carry them there for me."

Eragon helped her put the remaining food, her cloak, and her sword in the saddlebags. She grabbed a brush for cleaning her mouth and quickly did so. Eragon watched her as she did, and Arya noticed his scrutiny. "Do you want to use it?" she asked when she had finished her task.

"If the idea of me using yours makes you uncomfortable, I have my own," Eragon answered. "But it's back by the lake."

"Oddly enough, the thought doesn't make me uncomfortable," Arya admitted, handing the toothbrush to Eragon. "I wonder what that means."

"Surely only that you like the idea of putting this back in your mouth after it has been in mine," he quipped. "If the way you kissed me yesterday is anything to judge by."

Arya blushed. "I'm sure you'll continue believing whatever you want no matter what I say. That seems as likely an explanation as any."

Eragon chuckled, quickly performing his job with the brush and handing it back to Arya. As she put it away with the rest of her things, Eragon asked, "When did you get here?"

"Just minutes before you and Saphira flew over the mountains. I barely had time to hastily unstrap Fírnen's saddle. I thought he would prefer to have it off if he and Saphira wished for a reunion of their own."

 _And you were right, little one,_ Fírnen's voice boomed into their minds at that moment.

Eragon winced before he could stop himself then laughed at his reaction. _Your deep voice never ceases to impress me_.

Fírnen rumbled in amusement, and Saphira proudly thought, _Yes it_ is _rather demanding, is it not?_ She nuzzled Fírnen with her snout. _If only you little ones would be as unfettered by customs and traditions as we dragons, you would already be mated and done with it!_

Arya flushed, but she could feel Saphira's fierce joy at the way things had progressed and her unwavering approval of Eragon's decision. _You both seem intent on making me as uncomfortable as possible,_ Arya observed in exasperation.

Eragon grinned as Fírnen made things worse by saying, _But yesterday you yourself were prepared to take the very step Saphira just alluded to, little one. Why be embarrassed about it now?_

 _I suppose the moment has passed_ , Arya heatedly thought. _Or maybe it's because you're here. I still_ want _to do that, just not right now. . . . Oh, never mind._

Saphira carefully extended her snout toward Arya and gently rested it atop her head. _I_ am _sorry, little one. Words are incapable of expressing my relief and joy that you are here. There was nothing I could do to help Eragon, and his suffering has long weighed on my heart._

Fírnen's consciousness echoed his agreement. _Perhaps the union of our two Riders will be the precedent for the lifelong union of two dragons, thus far unheard of in history,_ he thought as he regarded Saphira.

 _Do not be so certain, hatchling,_ Saphira teased. _I am still_ two _years your senior and might yet change my mind._

Eragon and Arya laughed. They knew Saphira was also teasing them, particularly Arya, who had always objected to Eragon's much younger age.

 _Without you, Saphira, and your constant comfort and reasoning, I'm sure I would have gone mad long ago,_ Eragon insisted _. Don't think you did nothing to help me_. Arya nodded her agreement, as Fírnen had done, for her sentiments were exactly the same.

 _Little one,_ Saphira tenderly thought. _Now we will be off and leave the two of you alone together. I will show Fírnen_ _where to leave your things, Arya._

 _Thank you, Saphira._

Saphira hummed her approval of the whole situation, and Fírnen echoed with a rumble that caused the earth to tremble. Then he closed his front claws around the saddle and sprang high into the air. To avoid battering Arya and Eragon, he waited until he reached the peak of his jump before unfurling his wings and flapping toward the peaks.

Arya sensed that he was also trying to show off for Saphira, and Saphira watched admiringly before copying his take off and flying to his side. Eragon wrapped Arya in his arms to shield her from the wind, and she leaned against him, content to remain that way.

Though Arya guessed that Eragon was loath to break the contact, his impatient desire to be moving was clear when he reached for Arya's hand and glanced at her. "Can we run?"

"Yes! Lead the way!" And they were off.


	6. Bested

**6\. Bested**

Eragon kept hold of Arya's hand as they flew across the land, heading toward a canyon between the peaks surrounding Lake Arya. They nimbly dodged obstacles in the landscape, keeping up the impossible pace until Eragon felt Arya struggling to stay with him. He slowed and glanced back in concern.

Arya slowed even further. She was breathing heavily, though she tried not to. After a few moments of catching her breath, she looked at him in consternation. "You're now faster than I am." Eragon could tell it frustrated her to admit it, but there was no way around it.

"No, I'm sure that's not true. Perhaps it's only because you've been out of practice due to your discomfort with the cold," he said in an effort to soothe her irritation.

"That's gallant of you, Eragon, but even if I were in peak physical condition right now, your increased stature has given you the advantage. You're as tall as the tallest elves and have our grace and speed, but with the additional power afforded you by your extra muscle. You have bested me." Her annoyance was evident.

"I never meant to," Eragon said with a slight smile, not wanting her to be upset. "I suppose the height we grow to is one thing we really have no control over."

"True," she admitted, but Eragon knew her competitive streak wouldn't allow her to be satisfied when she added, "Perhaps we're still equally matched in swordsmanship."

"I have no doubt of it," he agreed. "Though I believe it's a stretch to imply that we were ever equally matched. You were always far superior, even at the end, for you knew how best to exploit my weaknesses. Or my _main_ weakness rather. Which was _you_." This seemed to bring Arya some small measure of gratification, and she smiled smugly at the memories. "We could practice when we get to the lake where I left Brisingr," Eragon suggested, hoping his sword wouldn't ignite when he named it from this distance. Otherwise Saphira's saddlebags would be charred ash by the time they arrived.

"Very well," Arya allowed, still sour.

Eragon raised his hands, wishing for peace. "I'm sorry, Arya. I truly do not mean to upset you. I can see this greatly bothers you, but it seems appropriate to me. What good would I be to you as a husband if I couldn't protect you better than you yourself could, were you ever in need of it? I _should_ be stronger and faster so I can do just that. It's not a weakness to need each other. You know I'd never use it against you."

Arya regarded him carefully until her expression softened. "Yes, I know that. But for the most part I've always had to take care of myself. Feeling like I needed to depend on someone else seemed an inexcusable weakness, and that notion has been stubbornly resurfacing over the past several days. I always tried to be the best at everything I could be so I wouldn't find myself in such a regrettable circumstance. But even then, it didn't always work. Like with Durza, for example."

Eragon shook his head at the memory. Then Arya continued, awareness dawning on her as she spoke. "And even when there was no question that I was faster, stronger, and more skilled, you still rescued me from certain death and nearly sacrificed your own life to get me to the Varden in time."

"But then I had help," Eragon protested. "Murtagh, Saphira. I couldn't have done it without them."

"True, but Murtagh didn't want to take the time to come after me. It was you, Eragon. You were my savior. And I can see that you have wanted to be ever since and wished I would have allowed you to, though you knew I really couldn't when I was more capable. But now you truly are capable in every possible way of protecting me better than I could."

"Save with magic and the sword, most likely," Eragon modestly asserted, shifting uncomfortably by the turn in conversation as her irritation changed to such unabashed praise.

"We'll still have to see about the sword," Arya said with a rueful smile. "I'm sure the many years of practice with Murtagh, Blödhgarm, and the other elves, along with the instruction of the Eldunarí, have allowed you to achieve great improvements there as well. With my condition being what it was, it was difficult to keep up my swordsmanship."

There was no way Eragon was going to mention that he truly had improved just as she was saying and was undeniably the best swordsman of any of the inhabitants on the island. His gains in strength and power had helped him there as much as in running. And in exactly the same way that his studies in Ellesméra became more disciplined as he sought to forget Arya after his reckless confession during the Blood-oath Celebration, he had focused intently on _anything_ to distract him in her absence, which had driven him to greater mastery than he would have otherwise achieved.

Arya stepped to him and put her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry I overreacted," she contritely said, lifting her chin so she could see him. "Will you forgive me?"

Eragon raised his eyebrows at the ridiculous question but nonetheless answered, "Of course I forgive you, if it makes you feel better, though I don't think your behavior was that objectionable." He placed his arms around her back and kissed her forehead. Then, before she could kiss his lips in return, he turned his face so his cheek rested on her hair.

Though subtle, Eragon knew his deliberate avoidance of her lips did not escape Arya's notice when she archly asked, "What, no kisses now from my future husband?"

Eragon cleared his throat, flushing as he attempted to explain, "I . . . I've decided to avoid anything that has proven too tempting. And kissing you last night was too tempting. If I am to maintain any reasonable degree of self-restraint before we return to the city and get married, I have to impose some limits on myself." He shrugged, hoping that was adequate.

Arya tilted her head back once more, and the mischievous look in her eyes worried Eragon. "Is that so?" she asked, too innocently. "You know how I've always enjoyed a challenge."

Eragon feared her intentions did not bode well for him. "Arya," he grumbled. "Please don't make it more difficult than it already is. I can barely stand to be around you without wanting to rip your clothes off." She raised her eyebrows. "I'm just being honest," he defensively finished.

"Well, since you _are_ the most senior Rider and self-control is one of the most important attributes to master as a Dragon Rider, it seems a little practice is in order," Arya stated in a reasonable voice. "Don't worry. My tests will never be unpleasant." She smiled so sweetly that Eragon almost believed she had his best interests at heart. Almost. "And they will begin now," she quickly added before grabbing his face and locking his mouth in a passionate kiss as she pressed into him.

Eragon stiffened, fixing his hands in place on her back. He didn't pull away, but he also didn't contribute any more to the exchange than was absolutely necessary. Arya finally pulled away breathlessly, and he quickly pressed her head against his neck, securing it in place with his chin so she would have no further opportunity to assault him.

"That's not fair," he griped.

Arya laughed against him, apparently exulting in the knowledge that she still had such power over him though he had clearly bested her in running. "No, but you know you enjoyed it. And see how well you did? You passed your first test. Be prepared for the next one at any moment," she warned, and Eragon grimaced.


	7. Catching Up

**7\. Catching Up**

For the next hour, Eragon and Arya walked hand in hand toward the canyon, catching up on the major events of the last ten years. Arya didn't have much to tell. The highlight of her time as queen had been helping the first three new Riders, save the human girl—whose name was Willow, Eragon reminded her—raise their dragons. She mentioned that Nasuada had called on her a couple of times to resolve minor disputes that had arisen in Alagaёsia. She told Eragon that Fírnen had been her greatest source of comfort during her suffering with the cold, always patient and understanding.

Arya confessed to Eragon that _he_ had been the subject of nearly all her waking dreams, the last thing she thought of before she went to sleep each night, and her first thought every morning.

"It sounds pathetically needy and romantic," Arya mocked herself.

Eragon smiled at her. "I'm pleased I was often on your mind even before you admitted you loved me," he observed. Then he repeated again as he had before, "And it's not a weakness to need each other, Arya. Men and women complete and complement each other, finding their greatest strength in union, not independent of one another. You seem intent on denying that we're better together, insistent we always be at odds. We needn't worry about one being superior and the other inferior. Don't you remember how many times we fought together as a team and came out victorious because we knew the other was by our side? Cannot my strengths complement your weaknesses, as yours do mine? We're stronger together than as individuals."

"You have become most wise, Eragon Shadeslayer," Arya approved, alluding to one of the significant instances that perfectly illustrated his point. "What you say is true, and I have been trying to open my mind to this concept ever since admitting I loved you. We achieved our greatest triumphs together and escaped many difficult circumstances by looking out for one another. I'll continue to reevaluate this misconception that I'm giving in to weakness when I allow myself to need someone."

Arya then told him that Sloan, who was prisoner in Ellesméra at Eragon's hand, had made improvements in his penitence and lived relatively peacefully in his advancing age. "His miraculously restored sight filled him with gratitude and led him to greater remorse and repentance of his wrongs," she shared, regarding Eragon meaningfully as if she suspected that _he_ had healed Sloan's blindness.

"I'm glad you told me that," Eragon replied.

"You know," Arya went on, "your display of mercy in that instance gave me great insight into your character. I always assumed that I knew just how I should and would act in similar circumstances, but you made me question and that made me better. Compassion is also not a weakness." Eragon agreed with her.

"Nasuada finally decided to pull down the rest of the destroyed citadel in Ilirea and build a great palace in its stead," Arya then informed him. "Though I suppose you might have known that."

"Not much about it," Eragon admitted.

"She called on Fírnen and me to help the most skilled architects and artisans of the elves, dwarves, and humans. It was a huge project, and she commissioned thousands of workers for the space of many years. The palace is magnificent, with the most modern luxuries and advancements of which any of our races are aware. But Nasuada does not live in excess or gluttony. Hundreds of people live in the palace with her, and all are treated equally and respectfully. She has taken special interest in the widows and orphans after the war. It's very admirable."

"I have no doubt," Eragon said. "Nasuada is a born leader and stateswoman. Everything she does serves a dual purpose—to satisfy the demands of her caring heart and to further her position as queen. What were your observations of the society for magical enforcement? Whenever I speak with her it seems her most constant frustration. Though lately I've also sensed that she grows more concerned about the friendship between humans and Urgals, which seems to be under strain."

"I believe her efforts have not been as successful as she would wish," Arya answered. "The lesser spellcasters, whose abilities are already so meager, resist the supervision less than the more powerful magicians. The elves refuse to participate, feeling their efforts are above reproach, isolated as they are in Du Weldenvarden. There is some truth to that, I suppose, though I can see where Nasuada is coming from. It's too invasive, however. I know she lost four spellcasters whom she sent to retrieve an old magician named Tenga. Those sorts of things invariably happen when she attempts to control a more gifted spellweaver. I know that Angela spent some of the years since the end of the war in Du Weldenvarden, attempting to avoid Nasuada's regulatory measures."

"Tenga, Angela," Eragon mused. "Angela once told me that she apprenticed with Tenga for some years, though I got the impression she didn't think highly of him. There's a woman with many secrets."

"Indeed," Arya agreed. "While Nasuada is determined, I believe her initial fervor is flagging. It really is quite a difficult thing she proposes."

Arya concluded her report with what she considered the last noteworthy occurrence during her tenure as queen. "Two new elven children were born this last decade, which is impressive considering that the two before—Alanna and Dusan—were the first and only in many decades. I'm hopeful that the rise of the dragons will mean good things for my race. Now I have nothing more to share, at least that I can presently think of. I want to hear your account."

"What you said about children reminded me of something," Eragon began. "I don't know if you ever stayed in contact with Orik?"

"Infrequently," Arya admitted.

"Well, he and Hvedra now have three strapping young sons. Fine lads if ever he saw any, according to Orik. He's very proud."

"Three?" Arya breathed, and Eragon understood her awe. Three to one couple when her entire race had only produced two in all ten years. "That's wonderful," she said. "I'm happy for them. How fare the dwarves?"

"Well," Eragon responded. "I scry with Orik every couple of months or so. The kingdom is thriving. He feared he might lose his crown by agreeing to enter into the pact with the dragons, but he tells me that having two Riders is a source of great pride among the dwarves. All but the clan nearly wiped out by the dragons, that is."

"How do the two dwarven Riders feel of their calling?" Arya asked. "Is it difficult for them to mount their dragons and take to the skies? When Knilf left my tutelage, Blaze was still small enough that Knilf managed to scramble up to his back without too much difficulty."

Eragon grinned. "He still manages just fine. As does Bodin. Very nimble, the dwarves. And the bond with the dragons has given them a fondness for the sky, though they also still like the familiarity of being in the earth. Knilf and Bodin are fine Riders, their dragons very noble creatures."

"I thought I heard rumor that they were recently in Alagaёsia for a visit," Arya said. "But unless it was summer and a Rider Choosing Ceremony was happening somewhere, we otherwise heard little news of Dragon Riders."

"Yes, the dwarves just returned from a visit yesterday before I left for the lake. The Riders are free to return to Alagaёsia whenever they wish after their first four years of training on the Isle are complete. That's probably why there was little notice of them, especially since Willow and Varhog have never gone home. They're expected to return after a few months of each visit to continue their instruction and stay for at least six months when they do. There is much comradery here among the Riders, though our numbers are still few. I'm sure it will continue to grow as do our ranks."

Eragon kept hold of her hand as he skirted a large boulder in their path and continued, "The construction of the city was the focus of much of my time in the early years. Murtagh joined me here not long after the elves and I arrived. It was extremely helpful having Thorn around. He and Saphira were able to lift much larger stones together than Saphira alone could have, which sped our efforts considerably. To do such heavy labor with magic quickly became too exhausting, even with help from the Eldunarí, for the structures we have built are necessarily immense. Early on, the other dragons on the island were only hatchlings, so they couldn't help as they now can, though we rarely rely on the wild dragons to pitch in out of the goodness of their hearts. When Varhog arrived with Black Thunder, who hatched from a larger egg than Thorn or Saphira, their assistance was also invaluable. Black Thunder is now the largest of the bonded dragons, which seems to fit, for Varhog is the strongest Rider.

"But we have already built many edifices—more than sufficient for our current needs—with plans and resources to expand as necessary. The Eldunarí instructed and guided us in our efforts, and we have patterned the stronghold after Doru Araeba." He glanced over at her.

Arya said, "I saw more of Murtagh than anyone, even Hanin, who went to Ellesméra a couple of years ago. It must have been the first time he was allowed to visit. But it has been years since I last saw Murtagh. How is he?"

Eragon became less animated. "Murtagh is slowly finding peace. He has had a hard life, and the road toward forgiveness and healing has been long for him. Isolation here with other Riders served him well, I think. Although he's nearly as lovesick as I was, only for Nasuada."

At this Arya truly looked surprised. "Indeed? How did I never know that? I must have been blind never to notice such a strong attachment as this sounds."

"They first met in Tronjheim," Eragon explained. "Murtagh took a deep liking to her there, enchanted by her intelligence and nobility. I noticed it to a certain extent but was too preoccupied with other matters to realize how deeply Murtagh came to feel for her.

"Then he was kidnapped, though we all assumed he was dead. Things became so much worse when Thorn hatched for him, for it gave Galbatorix significant bargaining power. Murtagh couldn't stand to see Galbatorix torture Thorn, so he quickly gave in to his demands. Being Galbatorix's pawn was the worst of any of it, I believe. Murtagh felt he had come to follow in the footsteps of the father he always hated, though against his will.

"You're familiar with many of the skirmishes involving Murtagh from that point on." Arya nodded, and Eragon continued, "He revealed that the attack on the Varden's camp to kidnap Nasuada after the capture of Dras-Leona was his doing. He convinced Galbatorix to take her alive rather than assassinate her, which was the king's original intent. Murtagh couldn't bear the thought of it.

"It surprised Murtagh that Galbatorix never caught on, since he had invaded Murtagh's mind, but Murtagh was able to help Nasuada significantly during her imprisonment. Galbatorix forced him to act as the instrument of her torture, which intensified his loathing for the king like nothing else had. I believe it was one of the main reasons—along with encouragement from Nasuada—that he began helping her. He healed her pain after those torture sessions, alerted her mind when Galbatorix was creating illusions to break her will and bring her into submission, and devised a plan to help her escape, which he would have carried out just the day after we attacked. He was desperate to help her and somehow atone for his wrongs, which was enough to change his true name ever so slightly. That is how he was able to defy Galbatorix at the last moment, when it mattered most."

"Amazing," Arya said. "Are the dwarves as angry as ever about King Hrothgar's death at Murtagh's hand?"

Eragon answered, "They're a stubborn race, slow to forgive, quick to remember past wrongs and hold a grudge, but I believe there is hope even there. Murtagh has slowly become friends with Knilf and Bodin by overcoming many of their prejudices through his honest goodness, quick humor, and willingness to assist them in their training. He even once appeared before Orik with Knilf, when Knilf accompanied him for the most recent Dwarf Choosing Ceremony.

"I have spoken to Orik on many occasions of the events surrounding Hrothgar's death, including my oath to take vengeance on Murtagh, of which he has generously acquitted me. Orik is slowly learning to accept the idea that forgiving Murtagh is possible, and if _he_ is able to—where Hrothgar was his adoptive father—I believe many others will be able to follow suit. They may not ever be the best of friends, but I feel that healing will come in time, as it often seems to."

"Time often seems to be the best healer and teacher, doesn't it?" Arya mused. Then she prompted Eragon for more information by saying, "I would imagine that the elves who accompanied you have stayed quite busy with all of the hatchlings and your other efforts."

"Indeed," Eragon agreed. "Blödhgarm and the elves have helped all of the Eldunarí recover from their imprisonment under Galbatorix, though some will never reach their original levels of clarity and insight. The Eldunarí work together with me, Murtagh, and the elves to ensure that the new Riders receive their education and instruction in the ways of the Riders. There's so much to learn, Arya. I'll never absorb it all should I live to be a thousand years. The wealth of knowledge and experience between all the Eldunarí is vast and overwhelming."

Eragon changed topics slightly. "Saphira has been overjoyed to help the elves raise all of the hatchlings who have so far joined us. There are now over two hundred dragons, and many of the wild ones have established their nests on neighboring islands. They all view her as a matron of their race, which I suppose she is in a way. The wild dragons have benefited from the presence of the Eldunarí as well, since many of the Eldunarí are from wild dragons. Though not tame in the same sense as the bonded dragons—if you can even call _them_ tame—they're easy to reason with and completely in support of the measures we've taken to preserve the resources of the island and surrounding areas. But our dragons or the Eldunarí have to oversee communications with the wild dragons, since they don't use any verbal languages. Trying to understand the series of images and feelings they convey is difficult, at best, and they've never taken much interest in the smaller sentient races." A breeze rippled by, and Eragon looked over as Arya tucked her hair behind her ear to keep it out of her face. She smiled encouragingly that he should continue.

He returned her smile and said, "When we first landed here, there were many predatory animals—large hunting cats, enormous snakes, and many fearsome, winged creatures. Different predators than we were wont to find in Alagaёsia because of the different climate. They naturally controlled the population of prey animals. Saphira and Thorn—and then the growing hatchlings and the new Riders' dragons—removed them within the first several years. The dragons then took over the role as dominant predators while ensuring that the other populations can maintain their numbers. We hope we have achieved a good balance, but there are many other islands within flying distance for the wild dragons to hunt and nest.

"We feel it wise to limit the addition of Riders to one a year, and the dragons agree. To give only one or two eggs to the Riders each year was also their habit in old times, as you know. This approach gives us time to progress in the ways of our order without overwhelming numbers. We're still using the eggs intended for Dragon Riders from the store in the Vault of Souls."

"How many are left?" Arya asked.

"Nineteen," Eragon answered. "Hanin will take a silver egg with a male inside to the elves this summer. Soon, in fact. The Eldunarí have assigned a female dragon to go the Urgralgra next year."

"From what little I heard and observed, it seems that the peoples of Alagaёsia hoped to have more interaction with Dragon Riders," Arya said. "Is there a reason you keep it to a minimum?"

"We wish to have a presence in Alagaёsia and always be available to be called on should the need arise," Eragon explained, "but I don't want it to be overbearing. The power of the Riders is so great—with all the gifts of being bonded to the dragons—that we don't want to create fear or undue deference among those not blessed with our abilities. It was one of the very reasons I wanted to leave Alagaёsia in the first place. But now that some of our more senior Riders are nearing their ten year mark, we may relax that approach somewhat.

"Usually if one of the senior Riders is planning a visit to Alagaёsia around the time we would normally deliver an egg, we arrange for them to take it along and be presented to the respective race during that year's Choosing Ceremony," Eragon went on. "You're familiar with this thanks to your interaction with Murtagh. The dragons have agreed on the pattern we have previously discussed of hatching for a human, elf, Urgal, then dwarf, which makes it easy to know where to take the next egg. We stay in close communication with Nasuada, Orik, and Nar Garzhvog. It's a bit easier with those three since we can scry them at will, but having you contact us from Ellesméra at a set time helped considerably. Now that _our_ strange dynamic is no longer an obstacle, I'm sure things there will also flow more smoothly." He smiled at her, and she returned it.

"I often wondered why you never spoke with me when I scryed each spring," Arya said.

"It was unbelievably painful, Arya. As I have told you, my feelings for you have grown every day we were apart. Seeing you in the scrying mirror six years ago provoked such desperate longing that I thought it best not to risk it again. I tried not to let my feelings be obvious. Was I successful?"

"Your eyes betrayed you, though nothing in your word or manner was anything but polite and formal," Arya reassured. "I thought I could sense from the way you looked at me that you still felt the same." She held his hand tighter, moving closer to his side. Then she exclaimed, "Everything you have told me is fascinating, indeed! Yours has been the far more interesting adventure."

"It _has_ been very interesting," Eragon agreed. "Never a dull moment, always something to oversee or learn or accomplish. But in spite of how full my time was, I always felt empty. I tried to ignore it by dedicating myself with untiring zeal to my duties, but I always missed you and felt you belonged with the Riders and with me."

"Thank you, Eragon," Arya tenderly said. "I'm glad I finally came to agree." She then pressed, "What of the Urgals? How do Varhog and Grintuk feel of their calling?"

"That has been a very good thing," Eragon said. "Both Urgals are fine Riders. Varhog is exemplary in every way. Grintuk speaks highly of the Games, but Varhog came here before the first were held. I've never been to them so I wouldn't know from personal experience. Have you been? Do the races of Alagaёsia enjoy the competition?"

"Yes, they're wonderful," Arya replied. "After the first several years, the races agreed to move them to a more central location, and they are now held every other year in Ilirea, where the dwarves can reasonably travel. They had only just concluded when I left. They're held in the early summer right before the Choosing Ceremonies and create much anticipation. The young members of each race who aspire to compete spend many years in impressive preparation. A worthy endeavor, and it keeps them out of trouble, which I'm sure was one of your intended objectives."

"Indeed, and hopefully the Urgals also feel that the competition satisfies the requirements for proving their valor and eligibility to mate."

"For the most part, from what I could tell," Arya confirmed. "As you know, I entrusted Garzhvog with the black dragon egg that hatched for Varhog, since I was unable to personally oversee that Rider Choosing Ceremony and knew my inability to speak Urgralish would be a hindrance. He mentioned something about revising their ways. My understanding is that a ram is now required only to subdue three opponents to the point that he could kill them if he so desired. But actually ending their life is no longer a condition of proving their eligibility to marry. I got the sense that many of the various clans have adapted these modifications, though I don't know that all have.

"Nasuada has occasionally mentioned some conflict between the more northern Urgal tribes and the neighboring human villages. Perhaps this is what you alluded to a moment ago. As of the time I left, she had never asked me and Fírnen to attend to it. But perhaps these clans are among the number that haven't fully embraced the revised customs."

"The northern tribes," Eragon thoughtfully repeated. "I wonder if that could have anything to do with King Kulkarvek of Anghelm. When Murtagh returned from the last Urgal Choosing Ceremony with Grintuk, he mentioned how hostile the king was toward him and Thorn. Garzhvog warned Murtagh to keep his distance and did all the talking and explaining for the Ceremony."

"I believe you're right," Arya said. "Nasuada mentioned an Urgal king once or twice. I know very little of him. Is he dangerous?"

"Right after we defeated Galbatorix, Murtagh and Thorn left, and Saphira and I followed them. When we learned they were determined to depart for a time, the Eldunarí warned Murtagh to avoid a few locales in Alagaёsia. The barrows of Anghelm, where the one and only Urgal King Kulkarvek lies in state, was the first on their list. That the Eldunarí would warn a Dragon Rider to keep his distance from the king has often made me wonder if he could actually be a threat to a dragon. If that's true, however, I have no idea how it could be. That mention of the Urgal king was the first I had ever heard of him. Nar Garzhvog never once named him in the time we spent together during the course of the war. Perhaps this king is stirring up trouble, but I have no idea why he would."

"How mysterious," Arya said. "He must be very secretive and isolated for the elves to have so little information about him."

"I'm not entirely sure where Anghelm is," Eragon said, "but I believe it is far in the northern Spine. Roran has occasionally let on of minor skirmishes near Carvahall, which makes sense. There are few human settlements north of Carvahall. He mentioned that few Urgals bother them there, however. He built the castle we always imagined, complete with admirable fortifications and defenses. And the Urgals also came to respect him during the war, so they're reluctant to disturb his territory. But if this Urgal king is demanding that his rams seek out conflict, I fear what it might mean."

Arya was pensive for a few moments as she contemplated the troubling information. Then, in an effort to lighten the conversation again, she said, "I do know, however, that having the first egg after the revised pact hatch for an Urgal was very significant. From the way Garzhvog spoke of you, I could tell they honor you for including them, as prejudiced as the other races have always been toward them. Change has been slow but steady."

"I was always just as prejudiced as any," Eragon confessed. "The first creatures I killed as a Dragon Rider were Urgals. Brom and I came across an entire village they had massacred and slaughtered. They even speared an innocent infant and left it atop the pile of bodies." Eragon shuddered at the memory, and Arya's face darkened at the mention of the baby. "I never thought I would forgive them, thought the wrongs they received were deserved. It's amazing what a little understanding does toward increasing acceptance of those who are different. I'm heartened to hear that relations are improving and prejudices softening, for the most part at least."

"And how are Roran and Katrina?" Arya asked, hanging on Eragon's every word.

Eragon smiled broadly. "They're still as happy as two lovesick fools. He's a beloved leader among the people of Palancar Valley, having gained their loyalty when he saved them from Galbatorix. In addition to his leadership responsibilities, Roran also tills the ground as he always wanted, which brings him great satisfaction. Ismira has been joined by three younger siblings, two brothers and a sister. Another is on the way, due this winter."

Arya became very still. "So they will have _five_ children?" she confirmed.

Eragon immediately noticed her change in demeanor. "Yes, five. Can you believe it?"

"No. I mean it's lovely, but just . . ." she trailed off, speechless, and looked away, but not before Eragon noticed a look of deep sadness and envy in her eyes.


	8. Questions

**8\. Questions**

Arya's sudden shift from drinking in every detail he shared to being so solemn and sad gave Eragon pause. He contemplated what could have been responsible, replaying their conversation until the answer struck him. Then it was so obvious, he wondered that it had taken him the few moments it did to identify. Matching her mood, Eragon gravely regarded her and asked, "Arya, do you wish you could have a child?"

Eragon was sure he already knew the answer from piecing together all the relevant memories: the way Arya always spoke about children with reverence and delight; her anxiety over Hope's birth deformity, and her insistence that Eragon heal the baby; her serious declaration that she would never allow a child to come to harm; and her obsession to save the children Galbatorix threatened to kill when they confronted him. But before assuming anything, Eragon wanted Arya's confirmation.

-:-:-

Arya regretted that she couldn't better hide her reaction from Eragon, for she then anticipated his question and wished she didn't have to answer, knowing how it would affect him. Should she deny the truth and spare him the many more difficult questions that would follow this first? She could tell from the look Eragon gave her that he already knew the truth, which was made clearer in her overly long pause before answering, and that he was simply awaiting her reply. She knew she must be honest, so she quietly said, "Yes, Eragon. That's something I have always wished, like many elves."

Eragon had stopped walking at his first question, an indication of how seriously he regarded the subject. He sat on a nearby boulder and motioned for her to join him, keeping his face a smooth mask of what Arya guessed were the many emotions conflicting inside of him. His eyes became distant as he then asked the first of the follow up questions Arya had expected.

"Would you soon want a child?" Eragon inquired. "Just yesterday was the first time you ever seriously considered marriage. Perhaps having children is something you did not soon anticipate."

Arya sighed. "Eragon, though I have wished, I never anticipated that it would be fulfilled. Many elves have a secret wish to bear children. We wonder if _we_ might be the fortunate one to next conceive a child and continue our race. Though I had not previously considered marrying, that doesn't mean I also never thought about having a baby. Elves do not typically marry before engaging in intimate expressions, so I actually have given this matter considerable thought. If I believed it was possible for me at all, I would dearly wish to have a child just as soon as I could. I'm over a hundred years old, plenty old enough to know that I'm certain of this."

Already knowing what his next question would be, Arya steeled herself as Eragon said, "And have children ever been born to a human and an elf?"

Arya stared at her hands. "I do not know, Eragon. A union between an elf and a human is a rare thing indeed. Why would an elf, who is nigh immortal, enter into a relationship with a human who would die in less than a hundred years, if they had any affection for them? The loss would be heartbreaking. The few that occurred in the former glory days of the Riders, when an elf might be with a human Rider who also enjoyed relative immortality, were often short-lived and conflicted. From the superficial reading I did of the subject during my years of education, I don't recall any mention of children being born, but I didn't study the topic in depth."

"So it is likely, if not certain, that _I_ will never be able to fulfill that wish for you?" Eragon asked, continuing to stare off into the distance, his face expressionless.

Arya tightly folded her hands, struggling to maintain her composure. She had known the conversation would turn this direction with Eragon's first question, that Eragon would doubt their ability to fulfill her desire to have a child.

"I do not know, Eragon," Arya repeated. "I truly wish I did. The infertility of the elves has long been a mystery, for it was not always this way. Before the elves began controlling magical forces with use of the ancient language, we were a fecund race like the dwarves and humans, but something changed within our very beings at that time. They were better once the pact with the dragons was instated, for the might of that race brought prosperity to our own. But after Galbatorix and the Foresworn killed off the Riders and the dragons, the curse of infertility returned in full force. In the past century or so, I was one of only a couple dozen children born among the elves. So you can see why I'm so astonished to hear that _one_ human couple will have produced _five_ children in _ten_ years' time."

Arya shook her head, lifting her face toward the sky to discourage the tears in her eyes from falling. "But I do know something of the differences between female elves and female humans," she continued. "Or dwarves and Urgals, for that matter, but I'll simply refer to humans for ease of explanation. Around the middle of their second decade, the body of a female human begins to undergo changes in the reproductive organs that allow the woman's body to maintain a pregnancy. The changes also affect the development of various parts of her anatomy to be able to feed and care for a baby after its birth. After this change takes effect, the human womb prepares for the conception of a child on an almost monthly basis. If the female has an intimate encounter with a man during this time of fertility, conception is likely to occur. That happens almost monthly for the female human. Monthly," she repeated to impress upon Eragon the significance, at least in her mind.

"If a pregnancy does not occur but is desired, in only a matter of weeks the woman is once again fertile—her womb in a state of readiness to conceive—whereupon the couple may again attempt to create a child. After several decades, this cycle of preparing the womb for pregnancy ends, and the human is then infertile, for her womb is cold and inactive and her ovaries no longer produce fertile ova."

Arya could see that Eragon had followed her through much of this lengthy explanation. She knew he must be vaguely aware of the female condition most human men regarded with superstition and fear, thanks largely to his education under Oromis in Ellesméra.

But when he looked confused by her final sentence, Arya dismissed, "Never mind. It's not important that you know every term related to the female reproductive system." Then, after a second of thought, Arya nonetheless explained, "The ovaries are organs within the female reproductive system that prepare and release their supply of ova, or eggs, which are the female reproductive cells." She knew understanding as much as possible would help Eragon grasp the information she was sharing.

"Anyway, with elves it's different. As far as we know from our extensive observation of our anatomy, the female elf's reproductive system is identical to the human woman's. She has all of the same organs, thereby making it theoretically possible that a child could be born to a human and elven couple if their reproductive cells were compatible, which is not known. However, the major difference is that the elf's body does not undergo a change toward fertility at a given time, as is the case with a human. Her womb is not cold and inactive, like an elderly woman, but rather in the state of youthful inactivity prior to the commencement of fertility in humans—healthy and _capable_ of maintaining a pregnancy, though it has never undergone the changes that lead to the production of viable eggs.

"Some have speculated that magic is responsible for this predicament. Elves now enjoy unnaturally long lifespans, appearing to be frozen at a youthful age for centuries, which may confuse the body enough that it does not know when to begin being fertile and when to cease. There are only a given number of eggs within a female's ovaries at birth. The amount never increases during her lifetime, but instead decreases as one is released each cycle in the chance of being fertilized.

"A man, on the other hand, has the ability to constantly produce new reproductive cells on a daily basis for most of his adult life, which ability also begins around the middle of the second decade in humans. Most believe that the infertility of the elves is primarily a result of the stillness of the woman's reproductive system, though there are some who believe that elven men are also less fertile than their human counterparts."

Eragon's expressionless mask had dissolved into keen interest, and he interjected here, "But there must be _some_ knowledge that a change takes place in a female elf, for children _are_ born, albeit infrequently. And since the elves study this subject extensively, surely they take care to observe in detail any changes leading up to a coveted pregnancy. Right?"

Arya nodded. "Yes, that's right. I once asked my mother if she noticed any changes within herself before I was conceived. Her account matched the observations other elves had made of changes preceding pregnancies in recent decades. Nothing is concrete. Though it was a terribly dark and violent time, during which Galbatorix and the Foresworn were wreaking havoc on the Riders and dragons, my mother said it was a time of great peace and happiness in her personal life, especially in her relationship with Evandar, my father. She felt particularly content and assured of his love and began to feel stirrings within her reproductive system. Some of the cyclical changes that happen in humans to increase the likelihood of conception also appeared in her own body."

"What changes are those?" Eragon asked.

"Well, as I mentioned, each cycle the female human body prepares for pregnancy. In the days leading up to what is known as ovulation, or the moment an ovary releases an egg, the woman's body undergoes certain changes to improve the chances that her mate's reproductive cells will survive within her body long enough for one to fertilize the egg. She produces a certain fluid, analogous to the man's semen, which gives his sperm a medium to survive in. Her womb also softens and widens at its tip, in a sense opening the gate into her body and providing easier passage for her partner's sperm."

"Sperm?" Eragon repeated.

"His reproductive cells," Arya patiently clarified. "Do humans not learn anything of this?"

"No," Eragon admitted. "I did learn the basic anatomy and physiology of the human or elven body during my studies in Ellesméra, and I obviously have a general understanding of reproduction. But I didn't learn all of these details and terms, particularly about a female. It makes sense that the elves have discovered the logical explanation and understanding of the actual processes most humans regard superstitiously. So these changes occurred in your mother before she became pregnant with you, thus signaling that her womb was ripening for conception?"

"Yes," Arya said, pleased by his quick grasp of the new information. "And it seemed to be spurred on by nothing more than love, contentment, and happiness, which is hardly a scientific way to assure it could happen again. Yet this is why we believe that a child born to an elven couple is considered evidence of a true bond of love. It has led to some speculation that the custom of the elves in casually sharing intimate love whenever they desire, without first creating the foundation of love, commitment, and therefore contentment that humans do with marriage, is at least partly responsible for their infertility."

"So is there any possibility that a female elf, like you for example, if very happy, peaceful, and in love in her relationship with a male human such as myself, might also undergo the necessary changes to become pregnant?" Eragon postulated.

Arya couldn't help but smile at his unambiguous example. "Yes, Eragon. I would think that based on the information available to us, that would be a possibility. But there is still no evidence that conception can even occur between the reproductive cells of an elf and human, which would be dependent upon whether or not they were compatible. Just as in the animal world, most animals can only propagate with other members of their own species. Perhaps our races are similar enough that pregnancy would occur, as with the crossing of a horse and a donkey to produce a mule, but as I said, that is not known. Pregnancy is so rare, even with two elves, that I don't know what to say in our situation."

* * *

 **A/N (May 14, 2017):** If you read this chapter and had any sort of a, "Hmmm, that was weird (or boring, or unnecessary, or too much detail)," reaction, you are not alone. One of the most frequent criticisms I receive about this story is that my inclusion of many such topics was "fill in the blank with one of the words above." If it bothers you, I want to warn you that this isn't the end, but only the beginning. Throughout the remaining four parts I often describe the female menstrual cycle, pregnancy, child birth, breastfeeding, and other "holistic medicine crap," as one reviewer recently put it. I tried to warn potential readers that this happens in my informational listing entitled _The Cycle Continues._

You may find it redundant or unnecessary, but it was actually _the reason_ I finished this story and posted it here. Some readers have said this isn't the place to educate the masses about such topics, and while I partially agree, I also felt that incorporating this information and these practices might help what I envisioned as a predominantly female audience in their later teens to early twenties (I didn't expect that male readers would gravitate toward a romance).

So let me reiterate once again: this is NOT in any way meant to be what I thought Christopher Paolini would write as a continuation of his series. He wrote his books as a young single male, I wrote mine as a married thirty-two-year-old woman with kids. Based on the content of the Inheritance Cycle, I'd venture his interests were dragons, weapons, politics, and war. Those aren't my interests. I love romance, and my interests as a young mom having and raising kids have to do with the subjects important in my life right now (those listed above). I hope you feel this is adequate heads up of what you will encounter if you choose to continue reading my story (you are more than welcome to stop at any time and I promise I won't be at all upset ;). My sequel, _Next Generation_ , contains but a fraction of that type of material and may appeal more to the younger or male audience. Thanks for your time and for starting to read my story!


	9. Impasse

**9\. Impasse**

Eragon's mask suddenly returned, and Arya realized she must have said something wrong. She replayed her words and silently cursed herself for her stupidity. She was about to backtrack and try to smooth it over when Eragon stonily said, "Are we doing the right thing, Arya? Your chances of having a child are so slim, _even with an elf_ , so why would you risk never becoming a mother in a union with me? No matter how much you love me, I fear you would one day come to resent that I might never be able to grant your wish and regret that you hadn't pursued your chances with one of your own race."

Arya didn't even know how to _attempt_ to recover. Dismayed, she took his hand. "Eragon, please. I didn't mean that. I want to be with _you_. Besides, that's all so speculative. I would never resent you for something that couldn't possibly be your fault—"

"You don't know that!" Eragon angrily interrupted. "You say it now, but what of a hundred years from now? It's impossible to anticipate how a century or more of being denied your deepest desire would affect you. I've seen it among humans who longed for children but were barren for whatever reason. The woman is always devastated, Arya. Devastated! Heartbroken that her selfless, pure desire to fulfill her purpose as a woman remains unsatisfied. Envious of those around her who, like Katrina, produce five children in ten years. Self-destructive that she is somehow deficient in her makeup. Embittered and angry and lonely." His voice took on a tone of desperate pleading. "Arya, I want to fulfill your every wish and be responsible, at least in part, for your every happiness from now on. What if I can't? What if I can't do this for you?"

Arya's shaky control of her emotions faltered, and she began weeping, convicted by the truthfulness and passion of his speech. She had often felt those emotions herself, though Arya had never before been in a position where she might have become pregnant, having never been with a man. But once she and Eragon were married and their physical intimacy might lead to the conception of a child under normal circumstances, would she be any different?

-:-:-

Eragon put his arm around her shoulders, sorry to have caused her pain but feeling so much anguish himself that he hardly knew what to think. Arya leaned into him, silently crying, her tears wetting his chest. His own eyes filled with tears.

This conversation was forcing Eragon to consider the most difficult decisions of his life. He also wanted to have children, but he had never consciously thought about whether that would be possible in a union with Arya. He had always been so obsessed about being with her. Now that he finally _did_ get to be with her, he was able to think beyond his present feelings. And he wondered whether they were truly doing the right thing in planning to marry based off what they currently felt and wanted. Were they actually headed into a relationship full of regret and unfulfilled desires, without fully considering the consequences? Perhaps _this_ was the reason most relationships between elves and humans had always ended badly.

And if that were the case, was it possible that Eragon could do the right thing and decide _not_ to be with Arya, for both their sakes, so they would each have a chance at becoming parents? It would surely seem more important in the coming years, once the passion of their love had matured into something deeper and more enduring.

But Eragon couldn't bear the thought of not being with her. It was too excruciating to imagine, since they had just been reunited after a seeming never-ending separation of only ten years. Letting her go would be the most courageous thing he had ever done if he decided to do it.

"Arya, please help me through this!" Eragon cried. "The way I see it, we don't have many options. Marrying now seems foolish when I know I might never make you happy in a way you most desperately want, but I can't imagine letting you go. I can't imagine . . ." His breathing became strained. "It's so selfish of me, but I want to keep you. I can't imagine you being with someone else and having a family with him. I want it to be _me_. I _want_ to make you a mother and be the father of your children, but what if I can't!" He tightly wrapped both arms around her as if defying anyone or thing that might try to take her away. Arya turned her face into him, as if she felt the same.

"If we ever did have children by some miracle, what of them?" Eragon continued, all of the dismal eventualities flooding over him at once. "Would they be immortal like we shall be, or mortal, thanks to their human inheritance? And adoption, while perhaps a possibility among humans or dwarves where children are abundant, wouldn't be realistic. To adopt a human child would only increase our misery when, upon reaching a ripe old age, he or she would die to leave us, their youthful parents, behind. And certainly, no elf favored enough to have a child would think to place it into our care so we could expect it to live a long and happy life with us."

-:-:-

Eragon's frenzied response only increased Arya's desperation. These possibilities, though only thought of in the moment, were all too true. She felt exactly the same. She wanted to be with Eragon and be the mother of his children, and she was unable to imagine him married to another woman, but what were they to do? They had no guarantees that they would be able to give each other the family they both wanted, but leaving him? No, leaving him could not be one of the options.

There was still no promise that Arya would have a child if matched with an elf. Eragon, however, was very likely to have many children if paired with a human. But what human would he chose when most would die and leave him a sad and lonely Rider, their children inevitably to follow? Why did all roads lead to misery? Must she leave him when she had only just realized how much she needed him?

Though Arya's sobs were quiet, her deep despair expressed itself in terrifying convulsions of her body. Eragon held her silently, his tears falling to her hair as they ran down his cheeks. There was nothing to say. Neither one of them saw a way around this terrible impasse.


	10. Empty

**10\. Empty**

Their tears eventually stopped. Arya broke Eragon's embrace by abruptly standing and staring apathetically toward the canyon. In a leaden tone she said, "I'm hungry. Let us make our way to the lake." She started off without even glancing at him.

Eragon felt empty and drained. All emotion had escaped through his tears. Arya's mechanical manner wasn't at all shocking to him. Indeed, it seemed the only reasonable reaction given that he felt exactly the same. He stiffly stood and followed behind her, unconsciously increasing his stride until he arrived at her side.

After several minutes of walking in indifferent silence and never looking at each other or touching, Eragon dully said, "Arya, I know this is probably not the time to ask, but I feel as if nothing could bring me lower right now so I choose it as the opportune moment. Have you ever been with a man? Intimately?"

Arya stared straight ahead and answered without inflection, "No, Eragon, I haven't. Though I'm old, I am yet a virgin." In their emotionless state, it seemed like nothing that would have normally required delicacy needed it then.

At that Eragon felt a glimmer of _something_ inside of him. _That's something at least,_ he told himself. And that was all it took for his mind to begin functioning again, to begin working on a solution to this unsolvable problem.

What could it be? They both professed to want to remain together, each abhorring the thought of parting or spending their lives with anyone else. But how could they remain if they might never be able to satisfy one another's deepest desires?

Eragon decided to review the whole course of their entire relationship, over a decade long, to see if it would provide him with any clues. Without either of them knowing, it had begun when Arya—under the influence of the Eldunarí—had sent Saphira's egg to him in the Spine and had thereupon been captured by the Shade, Durza.

When Saphira had hatched for him and Eragon had become the first new Dragon Rider in over a hundred years, it set off a chain of events that had led to his departure from Carvahall, his quest to take revenge on the Ra'zac, and his eventual capture in Gil'ead. During those travels, he had seen Arya in dreams and been able to scry her without having ever met her. She seemed aware of him when he had used magic to reach her.

Thus it was that in Gil'ead, Eragon had been astonished to discover that she was captive in the very same prison, a chance that seemed like too much to be a coincidence as he thought about it again. And as improbable as their escape had appeared, he and Murtagh—with Saphira's help—had in fact managed to best the Shade and all the guards and escape with Arya in tow.

Then Eragon had sought to reach Arya's mind to discover the reason for her abnormally extended coma. When she informed him that she had been poisoned and would immediately die if she ended the self-induced sleep, the only solution to which was racing her to the Varden or the elves, he had once again set out to accomplish the impossible and reach the Varden in a frantic flight across half the continent. Against all odds, he had done it and managed to save her life.

Arya had thereafter felt in his debt for his service to her but never to the point of returning the affection for her that she could clearly see was beginning to grow in him. They had fought together in the Battle under Farthen Dûr, and she had saved him from Durza, her perfectly timed distraction allowing Eragon to defeat him. After the battle and Ajihad's death, she had reprimanded him for what she considered the foolish decision of swearing fealty to Nasuada.

They had travelled together much in the following months as she escorted him to Ellesméra to begin his training with Oromis. Their friendship had grown, as had his feelings for her. Eragon thought of the fairth he had made of her, mysterious and intimidating, and how she had shattered it on the ground; how he had sought to make amends; of the many weeks of comfortable companionship where he had told her all about himself and done his best to learn of her; of his boldness after being healed at the Blood-oath Celebration. She had rebuffed him, insisting that his age was an insurmountable obstacle, a relationship between them would be impossible, and his feelings were only distracting them from their duty.

Arya had left the next day, and his heart had ached from missing her and also from the despair of unrequited longing. Once Eragon had rejoined the Varden in Surda to help in the battle, he and Arya were not as often together. But after the Battle of the Burning Plains where he and Roran were reunited, she had done something unexpected. He and Roran had gone to rescue Katrina, and Eragon and Saphira had defeated the Ra'zac. But Eragon had decided to stay behind to determine Sloan's fate. As soon as Arya learned he was in enemy territory, she had immediately run in search of him and found him in the unassuming village of Eastcroft. They had then travelled back to the Varden and during that time, they had fought a group of soldiers, confessed difficult feelings, and developed deeper trust. He had created a beautiful lily for her that a group of spirits transformed into gold and precious gems.

They had little opportunity to be together before he had run to Farthen Dûr, and he had thereafter returned to Ellesméra to learn more from Oromis. Then in the battle at Feinster they once again fought side by side after he and Saphira rescued her and Blödhgarm from the overwhelming onslaught of nearly a hundred soldiers. In Feinster they had defeated the newly formed Shade, Varaug, once again working as a team. The accomplishment seemed to inspire them toward some newfound revelation, which they never fully discovered as Eragon had, right at that moment, revealed to her the news of Glaedr and Oromis's deaths. Arya had fallen into his arms, their first unlikely embrace.

They fought side by side in all of the subsequent battles leading up to the attack of Dras-Leona and also spent a great deal of time sparring with one another as he worked to improve his swordsmanship. Eragon didn't know if Arya had always chosen to be at his side so she could help to protect him out of a sense of duty or if it was something else. There had been their intensive fencing practice under the tutelage of Glaedr's Eldunarí; the infiltration of Dras-Leona and their capture by the monks, which they had also escaped against all odds; and their fighting at the city wall where he had rescued her from the hands of many assailants.

Everything, all the way up until they had together defeated Galbatorix and Shruikan, demonstrated this same pattern over and over: they faced insurmountable odds; decided nonetheless to move forward without a definite plan in spite of almost certain defeat, since giving up was an unacceptable alternative; and _somehow_ they had always emerged victorious.

Eragon suddenly felt an inexpressible sense of relief. He realized that leaving Arya—letting her go—was not the most courageous course after all, but was in fact giving in to defeat and letting an impossible-seeming situation keep him from moving forward because he didn't yet know the end from the beginning. The courageous thing to do was to move forward into the darkness, though they could not yet see a clear path or a solution to their problem, and trust that one would appear when they most needed it.

 _Faith,_ he thought in amazement. The solution was faith. The answer was there all along, Eragon just needed to put all the pieces together to recognize the pattern that had never yet failed them.

Eragon could see that something bigger and more powerful than themselves had been guiding them toward each other all along, even though so many things had sought to separate and overcome them. He didn't know what to call it—fate, destiny, God, gods—but it was undeniable. He and Arya were supposed to be together. Too much had happened over and over again to attribute it all to coincidence.

Even having Fírnen hatch for her so quickly after all of the years Saphira never did, which made Arya the first new elf Rider in over a hundred years, just as Eragon had been the first human Rider, also fit the pattern. Eragon guessed that becoming a Rider was the only incidence with the power to make Arya regret her decision of accepting the monarchy. That dissatisfaction had eventually driven her to abandon her duty against all logic. Fírnen was also the only way she could have reached the Isle on her own in order to reunite with Eragon. Arya had overcome impossible odds so they could be together. It was too much for coincidence.

Eragon was as sure of this as he had ever been of anything. He reached for Arya's hand, becoming aware for the first time that they had reached the lake and were making their way toward the saddlebags on the far shore.

Fírnen and Saphira were joyfully swimming in the water. The dragons reached for their Riders' minds to share their delight, and it was then that Fírnen felt the emptiness inside of Arya. His concern was immediate and, rightly sensing that Eragon was somehow responsible, he demanded, _What is wrong? Eragon, what have you done?_

Eragon ignored Fírnen for the time and focused on Arya. "Arya, I figured it out. I know what we must do. Let me show you." She had stopped when he touched her hand, and Eragon turned her toward him, pressing his forehead against hers and reaching for her mind. Her unconscious concentration on the nothingness inside of her had created an impregnable wall between their minds as strong and tall and thick as any he had ever encountered.

 _Please_ , Eragon begged. _Let me in._

Arya sighed wearily and lowered the wall enough for Eragon to notice the same devastation that had so concerned Fírnen, but he didn't falter. Instead, he immediately began to play back everything he had just remembered, flying through the thoughts and memories so much faster than he could have spoken them and emphasizing the pattern that had become undeniably clear to him. They had always been there for each other, repeatedly facing unbeatable odds and somehow always triumphantly overcoming them, even when they hadn't known how they would.

 _Do you see it?_ Eragon insisted. _It's clear what we must do, for we have done it already too many times to count. We must face this impossible situation and move forward together, though we don't know how it will work out. We must trust that somehow it will, for it always has. We must have faith, Arya. We're supposed to be together. To deny that would be to defy whatever force has driven us toward one another all these years and to throw in its face the blessing of being together now. We can't turn our backs on that. I feel certain—more sure of anything than I ever have before—that this will work out. Somehow, for all our sacrifice and courage in enduring unbearable trials and suffering, we will be rewarded. I know it. Can you trust me?_

Eragon felt the tendrils of hope in Arya's consciousness. "This pattern you have discovered is indisputable," she conceded. "I don't know what I think about faith, Eragon. You know elves generally do not hold to beliefs in higher powers or divine beings, as do other races, but I have faith in us, Eragon, and I _do_ trust _you_. You have proven your worth and wisdom in every difficult decision you have ever had to make. I can't deny that we have emerged victorious from every impossible situation we have ever faced. Perhaps our luck—or faith, if that's truly what it is—will not fail us now. We may yet have a family after all."

Arya then leaned into him, exhausted by the emotional distress of the past hour, and Eragon gently lifted her into his arms.

Fírnen and Saphira were anxiously awaiting an explanation of the strange exchange, for Eragon and Arya were unintentionally blocking their dragons from entering this most personal problem. Yet to ease their worry, Eragon briefly relayed the entire dilemma so the dragons wouldn't pester him any longer.

 _I am so sorry, little one,_ Saphira sympathized. _I must admit that I too never foresaw this eventuality. It bespeaks your growing wisdom and maturity that you identified and resolved it before entering into your union._

 _Yes,_ Fírnen agreed. _Eragon's course seems the only logical solution, though it relies solely on faith. It is clear that thus trusting things to work for the best has never failed you before. To leave one another would be your undoing, your destruction._

They spoke only to Eragon. Arya had retreated into her mind to allow herself to recover, and Eragon knew she was too distant to be aware of the discussion.

 _We will consult with the Eldunarí to discover if they, in their combined knowledge, know of any instance in history where a human and an elf reproduced,_ Saphira consoled. _Even if it does not exist, we must not despair, for as you have ascertained, facing the impossible together has never prevented you from being successful before._

 _Thank you,_ _but please wait until after we're married. I want to embrace what little hope we have without discovering something to the contrary,_ Eragon thought. Then he added, _Forgive me, but_ _I do not wish to contemplate this any longer. Please leave me in peace._

They both respectfully withdrew, and Eragon walked with Arya to where their belongings were, sitting with her still cradled in his arms. Her head drooped against his shoulder, and Eragon leaned back against the saddlebags, resting his head and closing his eyes to clear his mind.


	11. Recovery

**11\. Recovery**

When Arya's head kept bobbing forward, Eragon slid down to recline more horizontally against the saddlebags so she would be comfortable. Her cheek then rested just under his collarbone, and Eragon pressed his chin over her head to further secure it from falling. He dozed off, and when next he was aware, the sun was setting behind the peaks.

They had reached the lake around midday. Eragon had already been hungry then, and now his appetite was voracious. Still, he didn't move so Arya would have as much time as she needed to recover. After a time, he felt her eyelashes flutter against his chest as she opened her eyes. Arya immediately attempted to stretch, for her body had been unnaturally still during her trance, and Eragon loosened his hold to allow it.

-:-:-

Arya glanced up at Eragon as he solemnly regarded her.

"Are you improving, my love?" he softly asked.

Arya smiled and placed her hand on his cheek, stroking the scratchy stubble that was slightly longer than it had been that morning. "Yes," she answered. "I like how it sounds when you call me my love. It feels so tender. I want to come up with an endearment for you. Has anyone ever called you my darling?"

Eragon shook his head. "No, Arya. Does it feel natural for you to refer to me like that?"

"I haven't ever used loving endearments before," Arya said, "but I've changed in plenty of other ways recently. I never thought I would admit that I love you, come here, or agree to get married, and yet all of those things changed within only a couple of weeks. I think it's safe to hope that referring to you in a loving way would eventually feel natural. Would you have a problem if I called you darling?"

"Not _my_ darling?" Eragon confirmed in an increasingly teasing tone.

Arya shrugged. "Either."

"Of course not," Eragon said with a gentle laugh. "I would be honored if you called me either." He kissed her nose.

"Thank you for rescuing me earlier," Arya whispered. "I couldn't find a way out of my despair before you reached me. My savior once again."

"We'll find a way to have a family," Eragon fervently promised. "We have achieved the impossible before."

"I believe you," Arya responded with equal fervor. "Now I need to eat, as I'm sure you do. I was hungry before, and my hunger is now threatening to consume me from within."

-:-:-

Eragon slid her off his lap and scooted up, turning so he could retrieve the victuals he had brought with him from the city. It wasn't a large selection, but at least there was bread, cheese, nuts, and some hardboiled eggs—food that had some hope of sating his appetite for the moment—along with the fruits and vegetables.

Eragon spread it out and indicated that Arya begin first. He knew he could easily devour all of the food and wanted to be sure she ate her fill before removing her opportunity. In the meantime, he reached for his water skin and took a long drink. His thirst was as great as his hunger, which was most likely due to the long time spent crying.

"I have some food too, Eragon," Arya insisted. "Please eat with me. I know you must be famished."

He obliged, and they ate in silence while gazing out over the lake. When they had finished, Arya said, "It's so beautiful here."

"Aye. It's the most beautiful place on the island," Eragon agreed. "That's why I named it after you."

Arya smiled at him. "I love you, darling," she softly said, testing out her endearment for the first time.

Eragon pursed his lips, surprised the loving words actually sounded natural coming from Arya.

"What?" Arya wondered.

"Hearing you say that is music to my ears," Eragon assured her. "But it's still hard for me to believe. I tried to convince myself that you would never love me in an attempt to lessen my longing for you."

"I'll do whatever it takes to prove my sincerity," Arya vowed. "I can't believe how blind I always was. I never allowed myself to see beyond your young age to your potential and what you were becoming right before my eyes. I think that by the end—right before you left—I began to give myself permission to believe that I might one day be able to return your affection, but it was too late."

"I remember that all too well," Eragon said. "It gave me hope for the first time but also deep pain, since I knew the time you needed was no longer available to us. Leaving Alagaёsia was the hardest thing I have ever done. It felt like I was abandoning any chance of having a life with you or of you coming to regard me in the same way."

"It seems that in our separation I had the time I needed to find my love for you," Arya mused. "Perhaps there was no other way save in being apart."

"If that is true," Eragon said, "then it was time well spent, despite how difficult it was."

The sky was darkening. Though still several hours before night, the peaks hid the setting sun from their view, which brought the illusion of premature twilight. But the air was still warm.

"Would you like to swim?" Eragon asked. "The water is very pleasant in the summer."

"I would enjoy that," Arya replied. "Perhaps it would relieve some of the tension lingering from the drama of this morning." She arose and began unbuttoning her fitted coat.

Eragon, who also stood, politely averted his face. As he still wore just the pants he had swum in the previous day, he didn't need to undress.

"Do not fear, Eragon. I will only remove my outermost clothing," Arya reassured, and Eragon turned to face her. "I'll still be clothed enough to be modest." She set down her coat and slid out of her top leggings. "I always wore many layers in an effort to ward off the constant chill, but it didn't really help." She also had to remove another thick, long-sleeved shirt before reaching the light top she intended to swim in. Its sleeves reached her elbows.

"I didn't fear you undressing, Arya," Eragon muttered. "Only that you would find my eager anticipation of it ungentlemanly."

Arya's musical laughter filled the air. "If there is one thing I will never question, Eragon, it's your gentlemanliness." The impish tone in her voice was his only warning before she lunged forward, assailing him with another passionate kiss in her second test of his self-control.

Eragon endured the attack with grudging enjoyment, for Arya was right—this kind of a test was definitely far from unpleasant. And test him she most certainly did. The curves of her body were more pronounced under her light clothing, her hands searching and soft. She remained pressed against him for so long that his head began to swim.

Eragon had to clench his hands into fists against her back to keep them from mirroring her actions, and then he had to fight to ignore that he could feel the skin at her waist, which was exposed with her arms raised. He remained stiffly upright, hoping his rigid posture would encourage her to soon end the onslaught. Since Eragon was so focused on controlling his hands, there wasn't much he could do about the rest of his body, which became increasingly aroused by the moment.

When he felt sure it would never end, Arya finally pulled away and rested breathlessly against his chest, thereby inadvertently prolonging her test as _her_ chest rose and fell against him in an unbearably tantalizing sensation. Eragon didn't trust himself with that temptation, so he stepped back, praying she wouldn't notice the full extent of his arousal. He held her at bay with his hands on her shoulders, grateful they were covered by the fabric of her shirt.

"You can be cruel, you know," Eragon said, breathing deeply as he fought to subdue the hunger burning inside of him.

"You did well in your test," Arya commended, attempting a light tone and not quite succeeding. Her voice was thick with passion, and Eragon could also see it in her eyes. "But I'm not so sure about myself."

Then she broke completely away, turning and crossing her arms over her chest. "Eragon, how did you ever do it? I have only known that I love you for a matter of weeks and already this longing inside of me is so powerful, I'm not sure I can contain it. In fact, I'm sure I don't _want_ to contain it. I _need_ you, I _want_ you, with my whole body and soul."

Eragon was glad Arya had stepped away. This confession from her was nearly enough to cause him to forsake his firm resolve to wait for marriage. If he had been touching her, he might have given in.

"I don't know how I did," he answered. "Surely you not being here had something to do with it. I couldn't very well satisfy my longing without the presence of the object of my longing. Perhaps though, my self-control is more than you give me credit for, is not in need of further testing. We may find the refreshing water of the lake sufficient to cool our passion before we do something we regret." And with that, Eragon strode past her and into the water, wading out until he was beyond the reach of the shore.


	12. Swim

**12\. Swim**

Though gentle, Eragon's rebuke pierced Arya to the core. He was right, of course. His self-control did _not_ need to be tried, nor had it ever. He was a model of self-restraint, and her unnecessary testing of it had indeed been cruel, as he had said. She had just personally experienced the burning longing and now understood that though his passion for her was pure and tender—as evident in his desire to marry her before fully expressing it—it was nonetheless still very powerful. This realization filled Arya with deep remorse for the difficulty she had caused Eragon.

Arya followed him into the water, savoring the perfect temperature as she slid all the way under so the refreshing sensation would clear her mind. Then she surfaced and swam gracefully to his side. "Eragon, I cry your pardon. Please forgive me for my misguided actions. I never should have inflicted that on you when I knew of your own feelings and longing."

"Thank you for your apology, Arya," Eragon immediately accepted. "I forgive you, of course. I'm glad I withstood the test, but I was _so close_ to submitting. Would it really make a difference if we consummated our love now versus a few days from now when we are married? I don't know. Most likely not. I am committed to you forever, but I feel sure this is the right course of action and would hate to do something, no matter how wonderful it would feel, that I would later regret because I had ignored my conscience. I want that precious union to carry no regrets, only joy, as it should."

"I don't deserve you," Arya said. "You have grown so much during our separation and are intelligent and powerful even while you are modest and generous. Thank you for your forgiveness."

Eragon grinned teasingly. "You have developed such a high opinion of me then, upstart young hatchling that I am? Well, I'll never again doubt the impossible."

Arya playfully pushed at him, loving how he joked with her, so easily permitting her to leave her anxiety over her behavior in the past.

"So how are you at swimming?" Eragon casually asked. "Perhaps it would help us diffuse the tensions of today."

"Not bad," Arya responded, equally casual. This was one activity they had never engaged in together, and she didn't want to let on of her skill.

"Perhaps a race is in order," Eragon suggested, eyeing her hopefully. "Are you up for the challenge?"

"I would welcome it," Arya answered. "First one to the opposite shore wins?"

"Very well," Eragon agreed. "Ready?" Arya nodded. "Go!" he cried, propelling himself forward.

Arya dove forward and began stroking. She had always loved swimming and had much opportunity to practice in her youth, though not as often recently. But she soon found it was a skill that did not weaken with disuse. She slid through the water like a fish, her thin, lithe form giving her an advantage over Eragon, though he still put his bulky muscles to good use. She easily remained by his side without exerting her full ability, thinking it wise to give him a false sense of security and also to conserve her energy for the final stretch of the race. The far shore was still some ways off.

Arya loved the warmth coursing through her body as her heart steadily pounded. Besides their short run that morning—when her diminished stamina had dismayed her—this was the first time she had seriously engaged in strenuous exercise for many years. When she had always felt cold, swimming would have been out of the question. But as she weightlessly glided through the water, Arya found that the exertion rejuvenated her, leaving her not only wanting more but with the energy to do it. She let the strength of that invigoration surge through her muscles and pulled ahead without intending to.

Arya caught a glimpse of Eragon's face as he turned it to breathe. He appeared to be giving his best effort, but she knew he might still be holding back, so she didn't pull too far ahead.

They swam on, and the burning in her muscles continued to have the paradoxical effect of invigorating Arya rather than tiring her. She could now see that the far shore was closer than the one they had started at, and she thought Eragon was lagging. Knowing she didn't have much more time to swim to her fullest ability, she pushed away any thought of holding back and threw herself into the motions with all of her strength.

Arya quickly left Eragon behind, reaching the shore within seconds. Several long moments passed before Eragon joined her. He crawled out of the water, breathing deeply, and sat facing her. She was on her feet, pacing back and forth and full of a rushing energy that forbade her from being still.

"What was that at the end?" Eragon asked at length, once he had quieted his breathing. "Are you part fish?"

Arya laughed delightedly. "That was wonderful and not just because I beat you. It was so strange, but rather than tiring at the burn in my muscles, I gained strength from it. The exertion energized me as nothing has in a long time. Can we do it again?"

"I'm afraid I'm not up for it," Eragon apologized. "My pride is feeling slightly wounded and my muscles not capable of another race at the moment. I was swimming my best the whole time. You were holding back, weren't you?"

"Yes," Arya confirmed. "The whole time I stayed by you, I was holding back. I only let loose at the end to see what it would feel like before I ran out of room."

"That makes it even worse, I suppose," Eragon said with a rueful laugh. "You might have arrived here ten minutes before me had you swam at your fullest from the start. You have bested me in swimming, my love. Does that make you feel better after this morning?"

"Maybe marginally," Arya admitted. "Though I'm coming to see the wisdom of your views that we must not constantly seek to be in competition, one superior and the other inferior. If ever there was a relay race with running and swimming, we would make an undefeatable team."

Eragon laughed again. "True. Now come sit by me." He had been studiously training his eyes away from her toward the lake, though her constant movement demanded his attention.

Arya paused. "Do you mind if I return to the water?"

"Not at all," he assured her. "But you had better do it soon or all this cooling of my passion will have been for nothing. You might as well be naked for how your clothes are clinging to you right now."

Arya self-consciously clapped her arms over her chest, and Eragon grinned roguishly. "No wonder you have been looking away!" she cried, embarrassed and blushing.

"I'm not saying I don't enjoy it, Arya. You're the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld, and I'm sure your true magnificence is only apparent without the disguise of clothing." Her blush deepened, and Eragon laughed. She shivered at the effect it had on her, knowing the prickling in her flesh would only make certain curves more noticeable under her shirt. "And I like to see you blush," he added.

"Well, you have a knack for making me," Arya complained. "I'll be off to end your discomfort, good sir. Do not stay away for too long." Then she ran toward the lake, springing off her last step to launch into an arching dive that took her beyond the shore.

-:-:-

Eragon admired her grace as she swam away. He guessed it had taken maybe fifteen minutes for them to cross the lake, but on her second trip, Arya swam to the opposite shore and back to him in less than that time, positively flying through the water. Eragon shook his head in amazement.

Once Arya reached him again, she stayed in the water and called, "Eragon, please come join me!"

Eragon sprang up, charged toward Arya—intentionally being clumsy—and fell down beside her to shower her with his splash. When he surfaced, Arya was laughing, and she pushed a small wave of water at his face. He pounced, pulling her under for a moment, but she thrashed away and came up still laughing. Then she jumped on his back, tightening her arms and legs around him so he wouldn't be able to reach her as easily.

They spent the next couple of hours thus, playing in the water and constantly trying to outmaneuver the other, splashing and laughing all the while. They ended up at the shore where the saddles were. In one final attempt to outdo her, Eragon grabbed Arya around the waist and prepared to launch her high over the water. But she quickly locked herself around him, and he instead fell under with her.

When they came back up, they were both laughing. Arya was still clinging to his body, her head next to his, and the moment turned intimate in their sudden stillness. She quickly loosened her grip, sliding into the water beside him as she planted a quick kiss on his cheek. Then she stepped away, took his hand, and covered her chest with her other arm.

"Let's come back here when we're married," she suggested.

"Yes, let's," Eragon agreed. They walked to the shore, simultaneously murmuring a spell that would extract most of the water from their dripping clothes and hair. Then Arya quickly slipped her coat over her damp shirt, and Eragon smiled gratefully.

It was night then, the sky above them dark, countless stars sparkling in the heavens. Eragon started a fire with magic to help them fully dry. "Are you hungry again?" he asked.

"Not really," Arya replied. "I've never had that much fun. I never allowed myself. I always felt I must be stern and responsible in fulfilling my duties. Are _you_ hungry?"

"Aye. Always, it seems," Eragon said. "May I get something from your saddlebags?"

"Of course," Arya said.

While he was up, Eragon also grabbed something from his own saddlebags before returning to the fire. He set the food down and shook out a shirt.

"I suppose now that I don't feel insufferably hot—thanks to you being here—I might as well clothe myself accordingly." He began to pull the shirt on over his head.

"No, don't," Arya quickly said. She blushed and immediately added, "I mean you can, of course, if you wish. You just don't need to for my sake." She stared at the fire, but Eragon slowly lowered his shirt and maintained his questioning gaze until she looked back up.

"That's interesting," he remarked, working to keep his face straight. "Why do you not want me to wear my shirt, Arya?" He was goading her into more blushing, and it worked.

In spite of the deepening color in her cheeks, Arya kept her chin up and her eyes on his as she firmly said, "Because I like looking at you, Eragon. Your body is pleasing to me. You're a magnificent specimen of manliness. And I like snuggling against your chest. It's so strong, and the hair is soft and warm." She stopped then, and Eragon guessed she could say no more, for the blush in her cheeks at her confession appeared almost painful.

Eragon couldn't keep a skeptical laugh from escaping his mouth. "Come now, Arya. You're teasing me."

Arya cleared her throat. "Can you not tell from my blush that I am being honest, though I'm embarrassed to admit it? Why can you think me beautiful but I not return the sentiment? You're the handsomest man I have ever known in my over one hundred year lifetime, so different from any elf and yet also not fully human."

"Is that so?" Eragon's modesty still made it difficult for him to accept her sincerity. "It hardly seems fair that you get to request to see me half-naked all the time since you find my body pleasing, yet I must wait for the same pleasure."

"A request is all it was," Arya countered, apparently trying to recover from her awkwardness. "You are more than welcome to don your shirt. I might remind you that waiting until we marry was _your_ decision, lest you forget, though I fully support you. Shall I also remove my shirt then, so we are equal?" she quipped, opening her coat threateningly.

Eragon laughed and stopped her hands. "No! Please don't. I'll continue to let it be the subject of only my fantasies until we are husband and wife."

Arya then said, "But that does remind me that I'd like to change from this damp shirt. It has become quite cold. Will you give me some privacy so that I may?"

"Certainly." Eragon silently arose and strolled off into the darkness, calling back as he went, "Let me know when you're finished. I'll hear."

Arya did but a few moments later. Eragon rejoined her, sitting near her by the fire. He had something small in his hands and was working it between his fingers, but he shielded it from her.

When he silently began using magic, Arya curiously asked, "What are you doing?"

Eragon looked up at her and mysteriously said, "It's a surprise. You'll see soon enough." He then resumed the conversation where they left off before she changed with, "Now tell me. When did you come to think I was the handsomest man you have ever known?" He wanted her to blush again.

Arya sighed as the anticipated reaction blossomed on her cheeks. "I'm not sure," she said. "Maybe once you returned from Farthen Dûr after Orik was chosen as king. Before then you still seemed so boyish that I couldn't ignore how young you were. But after that trip your face seemed more mature and your body broader, more muscular, and more adult-like.

"It rankled me how you left without even saying goodbye. And it bothered me that it bothered me. I wondered why that would be until I saw you once again. When you came to my rescue on the city wall in Feinster, I was _glad_ to see you. I had missed you and thought you would have at least said goodbye or told me you were leaving. And I was furious when I discovered there had been an attempt on your life at Farthen Dûr."

All of this was completely new to Eragon. He didn't seek more for his personal gratification but simply because he was curious. "Were you starting to have feelings for me?" he disbelievingly asked.

"I do believe so," Arya confessed. "Though I never would have revealed them to you, since our situation was so critical with the Varden marching toward Urû'baen. Surely you noticed that I sought you out more?"

"Aye, although for what reason I couldn't tell. I appreciated that you always wished to be by my side in a battle and that you would practice swordplay with me, but I thought it must surely be only to protect me so I could fulfill my duty."

"I did want to protect you," Arya agreed. "Not only out of a sense of duty but also out of a sense of caring. I had once told you I enjoyed your company and considered you a friend, but I think I started to realize I would be heartbroken if you were injured or killed and I could have done something to stop it. And it seems good too. We always did fight well together and more than once, _you_ rescued _me_ from situations I couldn't escape myself."

Eragon smiled. "For some reason that makes me happier than I can explain."

"If my mother hadn't been killed," Arya went on, "I believe I would have retained my position as ambassador and stayed in Ilirea to fulfill my duties but also to attempt to pursue a relationship with you. Although my mother would have undoubtedly complicated things."

"You wouldn't have had to try very hard," Eragon said. "I was already yours. You were the more stubborn part of the equation."

"True," Arya allowed. "But my mother's death changed everything and so did having Fírnen hatch for me. It was a very confusing time as I tried to reconcile my wishes with my overarching sense of duty. Duty won in the short run, but my heart won in the end."

"For which I couldn't be more grateful," Eragon said, scooting over to put his arm around her after slipping his project into his pocket. The fire was burning low. "Let us rest now," he suggested. "This has been a tiring day."

They lay on their sides facing each other with some space between their bodies. Eragon rested his head on his bent arm, and Arya lay her head on his elbow. Their faces were almost touching, and Arya raised her hand to once again feel his unshaven cheek.

Eragon smiled. "You really are fascinated by it, aren't you?"

"How long would it grow if you never removed it?" Arya asked.

"I'm not sure. Remember Brom's beard? Maybe that long, since he was my father. Shall I grow a beard for you, Arya? It would feel softer in time, like my chest."

Arya moved her hand to his chest, combing her fingers through the hair.

"That feels so nice, but I need you to stop," Eragon gently requested. "It's too much." Arya immediately stopped, guiltily glancing at him as she withdrew her hand. She also moved her head onto her own arm, mirroring Eragon's posture and increasing the space between their faces.

"I'm sorry, Eragon. This part of you that so clearly makes you human is one of the things I find so attractive. It makes you rugged, yet soft and warm. Elves have no hair on their bodies except for what grows on their head, eyebrows, and eyelashes."

"I remember when I first noticed that during my training with Oromis. It was very foreign to me."

"Do human women grow hair as do the men?" Arya inquired.

"No, not as extensively. Some on their arms and legs, in their underarms, and in the groin area, I would imagine, but not on the chest, abdomen, or face. And it is also usually finer and lighter."

"So you have experienced that then?" Arya archly asked. From her tone of voice, Eragon guessed that she was thinking of his question that morning and was amazed she even remembered given the state of her emotions.

"No, Arya," he replied, understanding her meaning. "I was so young when I met you, and you immediately won me. It seems unnecessary to have to say it, but I too am a virgin. I only know about body hair from growing up with humans and observing during times such as swimming. Some men are much hairier than I, more closely resembling bears, with thick hair covering their backs, their entire arms, everywhere. I'm not sure I'd like that."

"Hmm, I'm not sure I would either," Arya said. "I think you're perfect. And to answer your question a moment ago, I don't think I want you to grow a beard but I don't know. Perhaps I'll have a better idea of what it would look like in a few days' time."

After a brief pause, she suddenly asked, "Did you not see me naked when you were healing the wounds of my torture after rescuing me at Gil'ead?"

Eragon hated thinking about the angry red welts on her delicate skin. "No, not fully. Only your back, shoulders, and some of your upper chest. I diligently sought to maintain your modesty."

"Once a gentleman, always a gentleman," Arya murmured.

"Come Arya, you may rest against me," Eragon offered. "You have told me you find it comforting." He turned on his back, stuffing his shirt under his head and extending his arm out to draw her over to him. She rested her cheek near his heart and her hand on his chest. Thus entwined in one another's arms, they peacefully drifted off to sleep.


	13. Murtagh

**13\. Murtagh**

Eragon awoke first the following morning to find that Arya had shifted in her sleep. She was curled on her side and turned away from him with one leg drawn up. He smiled at the memory of the previous morning and where that move had gotten her. Since he wasn't touching her, Eragon soundlessly arose and retrieved her cloak, carefully draping it over her so he wouldn't disturb her.

He made a silent inventory of the saddlebags to determine what food they had and, finding it insufficient, set off to gather some. He hadn't planned to stay away from the city this long.

While he was picking fruit, nuts, and edible flowers, he noticed Saphira and Fírnen in the sky above.

 _How was your night, little one?_ Saphira asked.

 _Peaceful,_ he replied. _We had fun swimming. Arya is amazing. She bested me in a competition we had. It made her feel better after discovering that I am now a faster runner than she. She seemed to come alive in the water. Similar to you_. Saphira's thoughts were colored with amusement.

Then Fírnen's deep voice entered his mind. _Murtagh and Thorn are approaching from the east,_ he informed them.

Eragon was not exceedingly surprised at this news. He had told Murtagh before he left that he would return the following morning and had now been gone a day longer. Murtagh knew there was nothing on the island that could hurt him, but it gratified Eragon that he had come. He wondered what Murtagh would think upon seeing him. Surely he looked different.

Saphira swooped down, and Eragon leaped up to her back. She flew him to the top of one of the peaks so he could meet Murtagh.

Fírnen then said, _Arya has awakened and wishes me to bring her. I will return shortly._

Murtagh arrived on Thorn within a few minutes. Thorn landed, and Murtagh dismounted.

"You came to check on me?" Eragon asked, smiling broadly.

"I wasn't overly worried, but some of the others were," Murtagh replied. "Willow, specifically." Eragon grinned again. "I volunteered to come in search. It gave me something different to do. We left at first light. Are you well? You seem changed."

Eragon laughed that he had been able to predict Murtagh's reaction, and Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "A laugh? That's something new."

Eragon said the two words that he knew would explain everything. "Arya came."

"Indeed? Then things must be going well. I've never seen you like this. You finally look your age, rather than a cranky old man ready to snap at anyone who gets in his way."

Eragon smiled sheepishly at Murtagh's fitting description.

"So how is she?" Murtagh asked.

"Let her tell you herself. Her dragon is bringing her now. Did you by chance pack any food?" Eragon knew Murtagh understood his appetite. As half-brothers, they had a similar build, though Murtagh was slightly taller and leaner, like his father Morzan had been. But they both always seemed hungry, no matter how abundantly they ate.

"Yes," Murtagh replied, returning to Thorn so he could retrieve a bundle from his saddlebags. At that moment, Fírnen rose to the peak and descended near the other two dragons. Arya gracefully sprang from his back without using his leg, landing in a crouch. She stood in the same fluid motion and walked to Eragon's side.

Arya took his hand and said, "That was thoughtful of you to leave me alone this morning." She smiled sweetly and raised on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"You were still sleeping. I didn't want to disturb you and came in search of food," Eragon returned, holding up the bundle Murtagh had just given him. "See how successful I have been? Murtagh knew our need and came to deliver this. Wasn't that considerate?"

Murtagh couldn't quiet a laugh at their playful exchange. Arya looked over and warmly greeted, "Well met, Murtagh. I'm happy to see you." She approached him and gave him an embrace. Murtagh stiffened in surprise but returned the gesture before she stepped away.

"Well met, Arya," he echoed. "Have the customs of the elves changed so much since I last visited you?"

"Certainly not," she replied. "The elves are too old-fashioned and stubbornly set in their ways to see reason. Ten years is but the blink of an eye for many of them. I simply thought an exception was appropriate for my future brother-in-law. Eragon has opened my eyes to the warmness of an embrace."

"You two intend to marry?" Murtagh asked.

"Aye," Eragon verified. "As soon as we return the city, which will be soon, I think. Being alone together in the wilderness has been a . . . uh, challenge."

Murtagh grinned. "I'm happy for you, brother. Arya, you wouldn't believe what you have put this poor fool through. Although his single-minded determination and focus—a result, I believe, of his effort to put you from his mind—have made him into quite the Dragon Rider mentor. He runs a tight ship back in the city."

"I'm glad you came in search of him, Murtagh," Arya said. "I was beginning to wonder if Eragon had simply abandoned the Riders to live out his life as a crabby old hermit, alone on an island in the middle of the sea. I thought it odd no one would miss him."

"I didn't miss him," Murtagh assured. "He has smiled more in these five minutes than in all the last ten years. The others were concerned—well, Willow really—and I volunteered to come, that's all. There is nothing on the island that can hurt a dragon and Rider, but it wouldn't do to lose our valiant leader. There was always the chance he would attempt to throw himself from the cliffs before Saphira could catch him." Murtagh smiled mockingly at Eragon, and Saphira huffed.

"A fine speech, brother," Eragon smoothly said. "Don't pretend I was the only lovesick fool around here. We have been fitting company for one another, miserable and cross, not a pair to trifle with. Come, have you decided yet to return to Nasuada? As you can see, it would do you some good."

Murtagh's expression soured. "It's not that easy, Eragon. She is the high queen. Can she lightly enter into a union with a Rider, especially me? That might have some negative political repercussions. Besides, I'm not sure being with her would be for the best, given her mortality."

"Surely it would be better to live one lifetime with the woman you love than not at all," Arya insisted. "Although I can understand your difficulty. We could always see if an egg would hatch for Nasuada."

"I've thought of that," Murtagh admitted. "But I don't think she would welcome it. It would be a serious conflict of interest and a constant threat to her devotion to her kingdom. I'm sure you, of all people, understand."

"Yes, indeed," Arya agreed.

"But I'm beginning to agree with you that it might be better to live one lifetime with the woman I love than always regret if I don't. Perhaps I will see if Nasuada is amenable to a visit." Murtagh looked thoughtful then addressed Eragon. "Now that I have ascertained your safety and good health, I will take my leave, unless I can be of service in any way?"

"I had hoped you would inform the others of Arya's arrival and our intentions to marry. If they see fit to make any type of preparations, we will not object, but we certainly don't need anything fancy. A simple ceremony is more than sufficient as we will most likely wish to disappear again for a time after that. I would guess that we will return no later than a couple of days from now, if not sooner."

Murtagh bowed. "I will apprise the others of your plans and let them do what they will," he promised. Then, abandoning his formal air, Murtagh closed the gap between himself and Eragon and clapped him in a brief embrace. "You deserve this, brother. I truly am happy for you." Eragon smiled, touched.

And with that, Murtagh returned to Thorn and ran up his leg to the saddle. "Farewell, Eragon and Arya. Until we meet again."

-:-:-:-


	14. Preparations

**14\. Preparations**

Murtagh flew directly back to the city. He knew exactly who he needed to tell first, and he found her practicing healing magic with Blödhgarm.

"Willow," he called as he approached them. She looked over then jumped up to meet him.

"Well, did you find him?" Willow demanded. "What's wrong? Why hasn't he returned?"

"I certainly did find our fearless leader," Murtagh replied with a droll smile. "And he's fine, though you would hardly recognize him."

"Whatever do you mean?" Willow cried. "Has he been hurt?"

"No, no," Murtagh assured. "Ah, how shall I say it? Eragon is planning on getting married."

Willow pursed her lips, regarding him carefully. "Are you trying to be funny?"

"For once, dear sister, I am not," Murtagh said. "I'm telling you the truth. Surely _you,_ of all people, appreciate that."

"Yes, indeed! But how! And to whom!"

"I'm not going to tell you," Murtagh said.

"Murtagh!" Willow cried, pushing against his chest with both hands. "Tell me! I can bring you down just like I do Varhog." Murtagh grinned but kept his mouth shut, and Willow huffed in exasperation.

Blödhgarm had been listening attentively to the exchange, as had Varhog, who was always near Willow wherever she happened to be.

With a small smile playing across his features Blödhgarm said, "I bet I could guess."

"I think I might have a fairly good idea as well," Varhog mildly offered.

Willow looked at the elf and Urgal then back to Murtagh with increasing levels of frustration. "You three! I'm going to die of suspense! You can't make an announcement like that and expect me to be satisfied being left in the dark!"

Murtagh smiled playfully. "Use your amazing skills of deductive reasoning, my dear," he suggested. "The Eldunarí have been focusing on that with you recently, haven't they?" The other two males chuckled.

"Oh!" Willow cried. "You're insufferable, _brother!"_ She appealed to Varhog. "Yelloweyes! Help me! I don't know as much about Eragon's past as you. You at least saw some of him during the war. Did he love someone then?"

"I can't say for sure, Eartheyes," Varhog replied. "But based off _my_ deductive reasoning, there really is only one female in all of Alagaёsia who could have made it to the Isle on her own. And if it really is she, it makes sense, for she and Firesword _were_ often thrown together during the war."

Willow made a petulant face at him for not providing more information, which earned her a grin, then remained silent as she thought for a moment. "It couldn't be the elven queen, could it? She's the only Dragon Rider not here."

"Your lessons have served you well, sister," Murtagh teased, lifting his hands to ward off another shove.

"Am I right?" Willow demanded.

"Indeed," Murtagh confirmed. "Arya arrived on the Isle not two days ago. They made short work of getting engaged and are even now making their way back to the city from Lake Arya—"

"So _that's_ why Eragon named the lake what he did!" Willow exclaimed. "You know, he has never spoken her name to me, though I knew from the moment I first saw Eragon that he was in love, and desperately at that. Much like you, brother," she said to Murtagh somewhat spitefully.

But when she saw that her words pained him, Willow gave him a hug and immediately apologized, "I'm sorry, Murtagh. I was feeling vengeful, but it was inconsiderate."

Murtagh returned the gesture and looked over her head at Varhog with a faint, teasing smile. The Urgal looked exactly as he expected—envious. Willow was oblivious.

"It's no matter, Willow. You're exactly right," Murtagh said. "Eragon has loved Arya probably from the moment he first laid eyes on her, though it was purely infatuation at first. I was there. I remember how he looked at her. He was willing to kill us all to get her to the Varden so they could save her life. I was furious that I had to take refuge with the Varden for a time, since they hated my father so much, but I'm actually glad now. It ended up being a peaceful time, and it was where I first met Nasuada. I believe she captivated me as immediately as Arya did Eragon."

"Oh, Murtagh," Willow compassionately murmured. "Two lovesick brothers. Of all the men I know, you both most deserve to be with the women you love. It's not fair you can't be with Nasuada. But _this_ is wonderful news! Eragon finally gets to marry the woman he has long loved! When will they be back?"

"Within a few days," Murtagh said. "He requested that I make you all aware of their intentions, but I knew you should be the first to know, Willow. Marriage isn't an elven custom, and I guessed you would appreciate a break from your constant wrestling matches to head up the wedding preparations." He was teasing by the end as he cast another playful look at Varhog, who shook his head slightly. Murtagh laughed, and Willow joined him as she finally pulled away, though she was once again clueless as to the real reason for Murtagh's humor.

"I would be delighted!" Willow eagerly cried. "Although I'll still need the elves' help to make wedding clothes. You _will_ help, won't you, Blödhgarm?"

"Of course, Willow," the elf replied. "And I know the others will as well. If our queen plans to marry a human not three decades old, we will certainly support her, though it _is_ quite unusual, as Murtagh mentioned."

"I'm sure it was Eragon's idea to get engaged and go through with a wedding," Murtagh said. "I wouldn't plan anything big. He said they'll want to be off again as soon as possible, which is understandable. He will finally be able to satisfy twelve years of desperate longing. I'm feeling rather irked with my _younger_ brother at the moment. The woman I love doesn't have a dragon to get her to the Isle, nor would she likely come even if she did, as the high queen of Alagaёsia and all."

Willow smiled at Murtagh. "Well, it _is_ the man's responsibility in matters such as these. If you think Nasuada would have you, then just ask her, for goodness sakes!"

"I wish it were that easy, Willow," Murtagh sadly said. "It may be that she has forgiven me for all I did to her, indirectly as I thwarted her every effort during the Varden's campaign and directly during her imprisonment in Urû'baen, but she is the queen and mortal. I am a Dragon Rider and immortal. And I appeared to be loyal to Galbatorix during the entire war. Such considerations would surely be very significant for Nasuada in her political position."

"You'll regret it forever if you refuse to have a life with her on those grounds," Willow admonished. "But I know what you mean. It makes for a rather difficult situation. There aren't many choices as a Dragon Rider if you don't want to lose the one you love after the span of their mortal life." She sighed gloomily. "But let's not dwell on that. Blödhgarm, what does Arya look like? You and the other elves need to make her a gown, something you know she'll like and that will fit, since you know her. And make Eragon something nice too. I refuse to allow him to get married in only his breeches, no matter how hot he might be."

Blödhgarm placed an image of Arya in Willow's mind. "This is what she looks like, Willow," he said. "We will make her something she will like. She will also appreciate having flowers for her hair, which is one of the few things an elven woman will do to embellish her hair. Eragon will enjoy it too. I am happy for him. It was clear to all of us who protected him and Saphira during the war how he felt, though none of us approved. Time has shown me the folly of my opinion. He has remained as true and devoted to her, if not more so, as any elf would have, though she has never been here. The fact that he still left Alagaёsia, though he knew it most likely meant he would never again see her, showed great maturity and self-denial for one so young. He deserves to be happy. As does she."

Willow nodded, murmuring, "She's _so_ beautiful. I know just the flower I'm going to gather, but I'll wait until the morning they're supposed to arrive so they'll be fresh. What else should we do? Eat, obviously. It would help if we knew _when_ they're coming back. I suppose we should prepare a large feast regardless."

"Though marriage is _not_ an elven tradition, as Murtagh rightly stated, the elves will no doubt wish to celebrate this union. We will provide music, singing, and dancing," Blödhgarm offered.

"And we will no doubt join in," Willow said. "Won't we, Yelloweyes? Murtagh?" The males made incoherent, noncommittal grunts, and Willow giggled. "The dwarves will see to it that you dance. Come, Yelloweyes. Let's go find the others and spread this joyous news. Then we must make our way to the kitchens and ensure that we have enough food ready for a proper feast."

-:-:-

Willow grabbed Varhog's hand, and he rose from where he had been sitting on the ground. Before turning to go, Willow said to Blödhgarm, "Thank you for the lesson, Blödhgarm. Learning the healing art is absolutely fascinating. It's my favorite use of magic. Except for using it to dry my hair. I suppose _you_ might understand that with all of your lovely fur." She laughed again, and Blödhgarm's cat-like purr was his amused response.

"My pleasure, Willow," he replied. "You are the most adept student I have ever had. Your discipline, determination, and dogged practice have made you the equal if not superior of elves five times your age. Keep it up and you will be capable of performing astonishing feats of healing."

Willow beamed at him then said to Murtagh, "Let them measure you, brother. You're the closest to Eragon's size. He needs to look princely for his wedding, which won't happen if his clothes are sloppy and ill-fitted. Oh, and you should be the one to solemnize their union, since it's a human custom after all and you are Eragon's brother. Prepare accordingly. "

Murtagh nodded affectionately as Willow turned and tugged on Varhog's hand. They began walking in the direction of the training fields. She kept ahold of his hand in a friendly gesture and gushed, "I'm so excited I feel like I'm going to burst! You've met Arya, haven't you?"

"Aye," Varhog replied.

"Did you suspect that she felt this way?"

"No, Eartheyes. At the time I don't think she did. At least, there was no perceptible evidence to a thickheaded male such as myself. You might have seen it straightaway with your female powers of perception."

Willow laughed obligingly. "Perhaps. Here are the dwarves and Tomath. Where are Grintuk and Hanin? Oh, there they are. Call them, won't you please? You're louder." She looked up at him teasingly and found that he was already gazing down at her. He quickly glanced away and took a deep breath in preparation. She dropped his hand to cover her ears.

"Ho there, you fools!" Varhog bellowed. "Come quick! Willow has some news!"

Though the elf and Kull were farther away, they made it to Willow and Varhog more quickly than the two short-legged dwarves and the young human boy. "What is it, Willow?" Hanin asked.

"Did Murtagh find Eragon?" Knilf added.

Willow laughed. "Yes, brothers! He most certainly did! And the reason Eragon has been delayed in returning is that none other than the love of his life showed up on the island and he's spending a few days with her before returning here for their wedding. Can you believe it? Eragon is getting married!"

"What? No!" Knilf cried. "How splendid! Well, who is she then?"

"Arya, queen of the elves," Willow proudly announced.

"The queen?" Hanin said. "How interesting."

"Arya, is it?" Knilf said. "I remember mine time with her in Ellesméra before coming here to the Isle. It was most pleasant, but I do recall that she seemed rather forlorn. Did not you have the same opinion, mine brothers?" he wondered of Varhog and Hanin, the only other two Riders who had undergone the first part of their training with Arya and the Eldunarí Eragon had left with her.

Varhog nodded, and Hanin replied, "Yes, and she once told me how deeply Fírnen, her dragon, wished to be with the other dragons. The brief time he had to interact with others of his species was hardly satisfactory. However, I never would have guessed that some of her melancholy had something to do with unrequited love. I am eager to hear her account."

"As am I," Willow agreed. "Murtagh said they would most likely arrive here in the city within the next several days, and he charged me with preparing the celebration. We need to hold it in the Great Hall so the dragons can be present, which means I need your help scouring it from floor to ceiling." This proposal was met with a number of good-natured groans.

"Come now, brothers," Willow chided. "This is the most momentous occasion we've ever had cause to celebrate. Besides, thanks to me, the Great Hall and kitchens really aren't that dirty. This whole place would no doubt be a slovenly hovel if not for my influence. Thank goodness another female Rider has come to offset the habits of all you males. I'm only teasing, of course, but I really do need your help. Can I count on it?"

-:-:-

Of course all of her 'brothers' immediately agreed. Every one of them loved Willow exactly as the sister they referred to her as, and one a good deal more, though she had not a clue of his true feelings.

She took his hand again and said as she had before, "Come, Yelloweyes! To the kitchens! I'll leave the rest of you to your chores. Use magic however you wish and have your dragons help you get all the way up to the ceilings, just make sure you do a better job than you ever before have."

She once again dragged Varhog off, and they made their way to the Great Hall and the kitchens adjoining the Hall on one side. She went to one counter where a pile of fresh fruit lay. "I _love_ that fresh plants grow on the Isle year-round!" she enthusiastically declared. "But all of these melons and berries are my absolute favorite!" She popped a raspberry in her mouth and grabbed a cantaloupe, beginning to expertly cut it while Varhog readied all of the ingredients needed for bread.

Willow glanced over at him. "More bread? It seems you're always making bread."

Varhog nodded. "Because I eat more of it than anyone. Except Grintuk, perhaps. I would hate to make the others constantly responsible for my insatiable appetite."

"Well, it's for the best. Yours is better than anyone else's."

"Save yours," Varhog insisted.

"Only because I learned from you, silly!" Willow teased. "You've always been a fantastic teacher."

Varhog smiled affectionately. "And you have always been an amazing student, Willow. Didn't you hear what Blödhgarm said?"

"Mm-hmm," she mumbled around a bite of cantaloupe. After swallowing, Willow commented, "You know, you can do everything a wife could do for you equally as well, if not better than she would be able to. Laundry, cooking, gardening. Where will that leave you? A lonely though self-sufficient bachelor ram?" She laughed at her picture.

Varhog's smile remained, but his voice grew more serious. "But I couldn't bear my own children," he countered.

"Good point," Willow agreed. "But that would leave her precious little to do."

"Precious little?" he wondered. "That seems the hardest, most important work there is."

"I suppose you're right." After transferring all of the cut melon to a bowl and eating several more pieces, Willow cleaned up the area, washed her hands, and began taking stock of the goods already in the pantries. As they worked, she said, "Yelloweyes?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever thought about the problem Murtagh mentioned?" she thoughtfully asked. "I mean, of finding a spouse. Or a mate, I suppose, as you would say? I know I was joking about it a moment ago, but now I'm being serious."

"I have," Varhog said.

Willow gave him an exasperated smile when he didn't elaborate more fully. "And what conclusions have you come to?" she pressed.

Varhog was silent a long while, grateful he was doing something with his hands—kneading the bread dough—that allowed him to keep his eyes down. "It's a difficult situation," he finally answered. "Unless we Riders can marry within our own ranks, it seems unlikely that any of us would ever take mates. I shudder to think of the dilemma Murtagh finds himself in of loving a mortal woman who will one day die, while he will remain as an immortal Dragon Rider. I know Firesword has also often struggled with the issue, as have Grintuk and the dwarves. Hanin could find a female elf who will also be immortal whether she is a Dragon Rider or not, but the rest of us don't have the same luxury with other members of our races."

"It's depressing to think about never getting married," Willow sadly remarked. "Though the friendship among the Riders is wonderful, it would be so lonely to endure endless years without a companion like that. Don't you think?"

"Yes," he quietly said.

"Well, you were already twenty-two when Black Thunder hatched for you. That's old enough to think about taking a mate. Hadn't you thought about it?"

"No, Eartheyes," Varhog replied with a quick look at her. "I was never interested in taking a mate before."

"Before what?" Willow innocently queried.

Varhog shook his head. How did she always ask the exact questions he couldn't answer? "Before coming here," he hastily said so she wouldn't suspect the truth.

"Right." Willow drew it out in an exaggerated manner that made him chuckle, though he said no more, and she smiled blissfully like she always did whenever he laughed.

Varhog risked looking at her again so he could see it then returned his eyes to his task. Willow set down the scrap of parchment she had been writing on and walked over to stand by him. She took a section of the dough and began helping him knead it as she observed, "Well, maybe we don't have anything to worry about. Now that Eragon is marrying an elf, there might be more hope for us Riders of actually marrying within our own ranks, without regard to the differences of our races."

"Perhaps," Varhog agreed.

"That would be a relief. It's hard to imagine marrying Tomath. He's so young and sees me as mother."

Varhog laughed, and Willow looked up at him with another joyful smile. He kept his face impressively blank and asked, "Does a great age difference bother you?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'd never thought about getting married before I came here. I was too young and my life was so full of misery. It just never occurred to me."

"Have you thought about it since?"

"Yes," she said. "Now I'm the right age. I don't know how the immortality of the Riders will affect my body, but I suspect I won't have the ability to bear children indefinitely. I think I'd like to be a mother."

"You would make a good one."

"Thank you, Yelloweyes."

Varhog shrugged. He had very mixed feelings about this conversation. On the one hand, he was desperate to know Willow's every wish and answer. On the other hand, it filled him with such deep, aching sadness that he was worried he would begin to cry, and how would he ever explain that? "Have you ever thought about what you would like in a husband?" he asked with an attempt at nonchalance.

Willow smiled. "Which young woman hasn't?" she said. "Do you want to know?"

"Why not?" he said, grateful it sounded less wishful than his previous question.

"Well, now that I'm so tall, I've thought it would be nice if he were taller," Willow began. "Hardly a very deep and important qualification, however." She laughed softly and didn't look up, so she missed his look of hope that he fulfilled at least one of her desires.

"I want him to be my friend so we're comfortable being with each other," Willow continued. "It would be nice if he made me laugh. It's important to me that he be intelligent and wise. It's hard to imagine marrying someone who isn't a Dragon Rider. That's such a central part of my life, and I'm not sure someone who's not would ever comprehend what the bond is like. I can see how it might lead to jealously if he misunderstood." Varhog nodded, and this time Willow thoughtfully looked up. "Why, I do believe I've pretty much just described you, Yelloweyes!"

Varhog froze then just as quickly resumed his work in almost the same manner as before. If Willow noticed his reaction, she didn't let on but made things worse by saying, "You're tall, you're my best friend, you make me laugh, and you're the wisest ram I've ever met, though I've only met two." She paused and amended, "The wisest male then. And you're a Dragon Rider."

Varhog kept his eyes on the bread dough. "But I'm an Urgal. And you're a human."

Her thoughtful look did not leave as she considered this. "True. I can understand if you would object to such a thing. My race has always been incredibly prejudiced and cruel toward yours."

Varhog mentally panicked. That was _not_ what he'd meant. He had actually meant exactly the opposite—that he thought _Willow_ would never be able to overlook the most blatant obstacle between them. But how could he ever confess that to her?

Willow saved him by saying, "Your turn now. What traits do you consider important in a mate?" Well, maybe she hadn't exactly saved him, for now Varhog would be forced to describe _her_ in perfect detail, and she would obviously notice. Her honesty would never allow him off the hook.

Varhog nonetheless persevered, "It would be nice if she was happy."

"What do you mean?" Willow asked.

"I mean that she would smile and laugh a lot," Varhog bravely clarified. Willow raised her eyebrows, but he only noticed in his peripheral vision, for he couldn't bring himself to look directly at her.

"Is that all?" Willow wondered.

"No, Eartheyes," he said without elaborating.

"Why so reticent today, Yelloweyes?" she playfully demanded.

Varhog smiled. "It's hard to explain," he lamely confessed.

"You could always try," Willow invited.

"Yes, but I'm not going to," Varhog firmly said. "If you must know, I want my mate to be brave and strong, determined and persistent, and friendly and sweet. I want someone who wants to be a mother, since I'd like to be a sire." There was so much more Varhog could have said, but he knew he'd already given her far too many clues.

"Hmmm," Willow shrewdly murmured, shaping her dough into a loaf. "That's interesting."

Varhog was infinitely grateful she said no more, though he knew she probably guessed a good deal. She looked up at him and found him gazing back down at her. "Why are you looking at me like that, Varhog?" Willow softly asked.

Varhog tried to evaluate what his face was expressing and determined that it must be a combination of affection and consternation. They were speaking the ancient language, as they and all the others almost always did, and he attempted to say the first thing that came to his mind, "Because you have—" But the magic of the language prevented him from speaking the innocuous falsehood. So he sighed, switched to the common tongue, and finished, "Because you have something on your nose." He knew the switch was a dead giveaway that he hadn't revealed the true reason he was looking at her like he was.

Willow regarded him perceptively as she giggled and said, "I do not!" She reached up with one flour-covered hand and rubbed her nose.

"Now you do," he pointed out, able to once again speak the language that allowed no lies. "Here. I'll get it for you." He carefully reached one of his own flour-covered fingers to her nose and succeeded only in adding a bit of dough to the smear on her face. "All better," he declared.

She laughed in delight, leaning forward and rubbing her nose on the sleeve of his shirt. "Is it gone? Not that I trust you."

Varhog chuckled. "It looks good on you, Eartheyes. You'll start a new trend. Everyone will go around with flour and bread dough on their noses when they see how becoming it is."

Willow used her own sleeve to wipe her nose and shoved him by pushing her whole body into his side, though he didn't budge in the slightest. He only laughed again, which brought the usual smile to Willow's face.

"Why do you always act like you love hearing me laugh so much?" Varhog wondered in a moment of brash courage.

"Because I _do_ love it," Willow mischievously replied. "Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime, but I have to have a secret too."

"Fair enough," Varhog quickly allowed, so grateful she was letting him off the hook unlike he had expected. He finished forming his last loaf and covered them all with a cloth. "What do we need to do next?" he said, walking to the nearest sink to wash his hands. "Put me to work, Eartheyes. I'll do anything for you."

Willow's eyes flitted to his, and Varhog saw that she suspected his words had more than one meaning. Her mouth curved up in the smile he loved so much, but she once again didn't call him out. "Come along. We need to visit the gardens." And off they went.

-:-:-:-


	15. Swordplay

**15\. Swordplay**

After Murtagh left them, Eragon and Arya breakfasted atop the peak and enjoyed the magnificent view.

As they finished their meal, Eragon said, "Well, my love, we have another day before us. Shall we carry on as yesterday?"

"If we can avoid the emotional drama, then yes, I have no objections," Arya said, smiling.

"Aye. That was trying. How about that sword fight? We have yet to test our skills there."

"That would be welcome, though I must admit to some reluctance. I can't help but sense that you must have improved beyond my skill with your intensive training here, while I have been languishing in Ellesméra, unable to do much more than cower next to Fírnen."

"Don't be so critical of yourself," Eragon insisted with gentle reproof. "That was beyond your control. Besides, you once reminded me that you had nearly a hundred years of practice. I should think you wouldn't so quickly forget your skill. And if by some chance I prove superior, why then I'll share of my expertise until we're once again equally matched." He was teasing by the end to show that it didn't matter to him who was the better swordsman.

"How very noble of you," Arya dryly observed. "But since some exercise would be most enjoyable, let us not delay any longer."

Saphira and Fírnen flew them back to the lakeshore, where they both retrieved their swords. Arya used a leather strap from her saddlebags to secure her hair out of her face.

"I like the way your hair looks," Eragon complimented. "And I don't just mean tied back like that. It looks wild and wavy after drying from our swim last night."

"Thank you," Arya said with a smile. "But don't think a well-timed compliment will gain you any advantage. Shall we?"

"Indeed," Eragon said. "But I've always wondered and never dared ask before. Do you somehow make your hair smell like freshly crushed pine needles, or is that how it naturally is?"

Arya laughed. "That must be how it naturally is. I don't consciously do anything to make myself smell a certain way. Do you?"

"No," he said. " _Do_ I smell a certain way? Maybe you shouldn't answer. After a few days in the wilderness, my scent can hardly be pleasant. Saphira never tires of reminding me how pungent humans smell, though she tells me I smell more like an elf than I did before the Blood-oath Celebration." He chuckled regretfully and felt Saphira's amused agreement.

" _I_ like the way you smell, though I can't narrow it down to one thing, as you have with me. You smell masculine. Your sweat is part of it but not in a repugnant way. It's attractive."

Eragon dubiously creased his brow. "If you say so. But maybe you're just saying that to gain _yourself_ an advantage." He grinned teasingly. " _Now_ shall we?"

"Yes!" Arya exclaimed. After dulling their blades with magic, they stood across from each other in the clearing near the saddles, their swords at the ready. They carefully regarded one another, each content to let the other initiate the fight.

Eragon immediately cleared his mind, having mastered the skill after years of persistent practice until it felt as natural as breathing. He had worked so long to keep his emotions in check that this, by extension, came automatically. He saw no need to move until Arya did, so he waited patiently, weighing every perceivable stimulus with mechanical efficiency and calculating how each would affect any number of possibilities as the fight began.

He noticed shadows and the play of light against the earth and surrounding area as well as against Arya. He saw and sensed small lifeforms in their abundance. He heard and felt the breeze, the rippling of the lake's surface, and the warmth of the sun on his skin. He smelled numberless smells, including Arya's distinctively pleasant scent, though he simply filtered that through his mind as detachedly as the rest. He even tasted various flavors as he breathed through slightly parted lips. Eragon observed Arya most carefully, for he wanted to be sure he understood her and was truly _seeing_ her as she was, which was different from ever before.

Finally Arya seemed impatient to begin, so she raised her sword and boldly leaped forward. Eragon held his body so still that there was no movement or reaction for her to anticipate. In his heightened state of awareness, it seemed to him like Arya moved in slow motion, and he stepped to the side a moment before she reached him, not finding it needful to move any sooner. His evasion was so precise and perfectly timed that Arya had no hope of recovering before his sword was resting against her back.

But Arya spun away and slashed upward toward his face. Eragon easily blocked the blow, forcing her sword down with a deceptively casual movement so she wouldn't be prepared as he unleashed his full strength.

To maintain her grip, Arya moved her blade away from his and retreated, but Eragon gave her no time to regroup. He advanced swiftly, taking advantage of her hesitation as the opportune moment to strike. She backed away steadily, attempting to hold her ground under the relentless onslaught. After but a moment, he was staring into her eyes with his sword pressed to her throat.

His face remained impassive, for he felt no surge of triumph or twinge of regret, just calm emptiness. "You overcompensated on that last block and left yourself unprotected a moment too long," Eragon mechanically recited, backing away.

Arya took a deep breath, and Eragon sensed from her expression that she was attempting to clear her mind as completely as he had. He was pleased to see that she didn't allow herself to feel any irritation over her defeat.

Eragon initiated the next exchange. There was no reason to make her begin every time, though he could have, as conserving his energy was the logical thing to do. He circled to his right, for Arya held her weapon in her right hand, leaving her left side exposed. She circled as he did to maintain the distance between them.

Eragon lunged, and she raised her sword in preparation, but he retreated just as quickly, taking an unexpected step to her left. As Arya pivoted to face him, Eragon preceded her reaction and brought his sword to her ribcage. It all happened in the blink of an eye. His speed and accuracy were deadly.

Arya danced nimbly away, and Eragon advanced once again, always keenly aware of her every hesitation and feint. He moved only as much as absolutely necessary and then with such perfect precision and strength that she never touched him with her sword.

After another match, Eragon noticed Arya's eyes repeatedly flashing to his torso. He exploited this sloppy distraction by knocking her sword from her hands and placing the point of his against her navel. As he bent to retrieve her sword, Eragon questioningly regarded her.

Her attempts to match his unruffled detachment were weakening, and Arya tersely explained, "I was distracted by your body and the movement of your muscles." Eragon expected this answer, for he had recognized it happening from his distant mental perspective. And just as Arya had once used a dazzling smile to exploit his weakness, he had done nothing to diminish the distraction of his body in taking advantage of hers.

Eragon allowed a slight smile as he walked over to his shirt and quickly drew it on over his head. "Will that help?" he asked.

"Most likely not," Arya replied. "You're better than I. There's no question. You have achieved such mastery over an emotionless, attentive state that there's no movement or maneuver—including its motivation and intent—that escapes your notice."

"And therein—in its entirety—lies my expertise. You know this, Arya. Learning the physical forms and footwork is an essential foundation for success, for you must be able to call on them automatically during the fight, but the emotional discipline is far more difficult and important to achieve. I had such practice mastering my emotions while you weren't here that it has become second-nature to call on that in this instance as well. I think I have all but lived in my fighting mind as I've sought to forget you."

"Will you help me?" Arya asked.

"I will," Eragon agreed. "But my advice and suggestions will do little for you. Just as you once knew not how to help me improve and hoped I would learn by repeating my mistakes often enough that I would eventually stop making them, the ability to remain unattached and yet completely in tune during the fight is the element that will once again make you my equal. You were always far superior with the blade and your mind is also more disciplined. I'm sure it won't take long."

Eragon was still withdrawn enough that he spoke somewhat bluntly. Yet he could see that Arya was not offended, for she knew as well as he did—if not better—that controlling her emotions, subduing frustration, and letting go of all desire to compete and triumph were essential to her improvement.

"Let us continue," Arya urged. "Not to determine who is better, for that is sufficiently clear, but rather because I wish to improve and this exercise is most welcome."

Eragon obliged. For several hours they moved together in a graceful dance. He made brief encouraging comments here and there, and she occasionally asked questions.

Once Arya remarked, "I'm glad I was able to concede your superiority, though it was difficult for me, as I'm sure you can imagine. It has allowed me to learn as an eager student rather than a resentful competitor."

Eragon nodded approvingly. "Yes, and from this state of mind you are primed to practice the emotional detachment so essential to your success. Being teachable was also a hard lesson for me to master."

-:-:-

By midday Eragon insisted they break for lunch. They were drenched in sweat, and Arya was breathing heavily, though Eragon hardly seemed winded.

"I wish I hadn't lost so much of my stamina," she lamented as they sat to drink and eat. "I was once one of the strongest and swiftest of the elves."

"You will soon regain it, Arya, now that you are able. You already seem much improved over yesterday, and it has been but one day. There is new life and color in your cheeks."

Arya smiled gratefully, drinking deeply of the water he offered.

Eragon continued, "A much-decreased sense of exertion was one significant change I noticed once I began to grasp detached fighting. While keeping my body relatively still and conserving physical energy, my mind performed the most difficult work of receiving and filtering countless sensory stimuli. When fully aware of every anticipated and actual move of my opponent, I can dodge and retaliate with minimal effort, even in the face of a desperate barrage."

"So I noticed," Arya said.

By the time they had finished their meal, their sweat had dried and left a salty, gritty residue. Arya suggested swimming in the water to remove it, to which Eragon gladly agreed.

Being in the water so refreshed and energized Arya that she asked to continue their swordplay when they emerged. So they began again, and Arya made great strides, occasionally tagging Eragon with her sword.

"As with mastery of any skill, all it takes is time," Eragon reassured. "Your foundation is already much more solid than mine when I began to train in earnest. You'll quickly close the gap."

"I like your teaching style," Arya approved. "Your constant encouragement makes me eager to improve myself. We Riders are fortunate to have you as our leader."

"Thank you, Arya. That's gratifying. But I really don't consider myself the leader. I may be the most senior Rider, but only by a few months. Murtagh has been a Dragon Rider nearly as long as I, and he received the same degree of instruction. Then you became a Rider so soon thereafter, and your education on all of these subjects was already substantial. I have never felt equal to the task, thrust upon me as it was, but without much alternative, I have simply done my best. Perhaps after the contemptuous way Vanir always treated me, I resolved never to be the same if I had the opportunity to mentor someone in improving a skill."

Dusk had fallen, and Arya's weariness was so evident that Eragon refused to continue. After a brief meal, she curled on her side facing Eragon, who was seated right next to her, and promptly fell asleep.


	16. True Name

**16\. True Name**

Eragon withdrew from his pocket the small piece of gold he had summoned from the earth the evening before, when Arya had requested a moment of privacy to change. He was fashioning it into what he hoped would be a suitable wedding band for Arya, something simple yet meaningful. He remembered the lily he had sung for her after she confided in him about her imprisonment in Gil'ead, and how the spirits had transformed it into pure gold studded with precious gems.

With that image in his mind, Eragon continued his work and sang under his breath, inviting the precious metal to take the shape he desired.

As he did, he thought about Arya's request on the evening they were reunited that he help her discover her true name anew. He regarded her as she slept beside him, considering everything he knew about her, what her former true name was, and how she suspected that it had changed due to her feelings for him. He contemplated her motivations and recent discoveries, along with her increased vulnerability in spite of her ever-present strength.

It was on a night such as this, many years before, that Eragon had thus observed Sloan from across a dampened fire. Eragon had sorted and processed all knowledge of him until he had inadvertently arrived at Sloan's true name.

Eragon continued his efforts with the ring and Arya's true name until a phrase in the ancient language filled his mind, what he felt was a perfectly fitting description of Arya.

He whispered it, watching her closely. She shivered.

Had he done it? Eragon tried once again, whispering more firmly. Arya jerked toward him, mumbling in her sleep as her eyelids fluttered.

 _Amazing_ , he thought. Arya was so amazing, as her true name clearly signified. She was still bound so strongly by duty, yet she was made stronger by recognizing her most important duties. She had been willing to sacrifice everything for him once she admitted her love. Eragon had been reluctant to include that much feeling for himself in the phrase encompassing her true name, certain he must be overstating it, but he had tried to trust Arya's sincerity over the past two days. The name rang true, so it must be so.

Eragon shook his head in grateful disbelief. Then a thought struck him. He widened the band of the ring he was shaping. The design consisted of two elongated golden lilies with their blossoms crossed at the neck as if resting on one another's shoulders. These created the face of the ring. The stems stretched away from each other, forming the band of the ring. Where they touched opposite the blossoms, they entwined, the end of each wrapping around the other stem until again reaching the blooms, producing an elegant swirl of movement.

Eragon turned the ring slightly so he could see the inside of the band. The light glowing from his gedwёy ignasia illuminated his efforts. Singing his thoughts into being, he inscribed Arya's name on the back of one of the blossoms followed by her true name around one half of the intertwined stems. On the back of the other blossom, he etched his own name followed by his true name along the stems. The writing was tiny and delicate, but it added a personal touch to the beauty of the joined flowers that Eragon hoped Arya would appreciate.

He was pleased with the end result. It was unique and personally meaningful to them. Should he give it to Arya before reaching the city or when they were married?

If he waited until the ceremony, Arya might not have ample opportunity to appreciate all the tender detail he had instilled. Eragon decided to give it to her before then, hoping he would recognize the right moment when it appeared.


	17. Self-Restraint

**17\. Self-Restraint**

Eragon leaned back against the smooth bark of a tree, pulling his knees up and resting his arms on them. He and Arya had just finished dinner on their fourth night together, and he was gazing into the flames of the small fire, mesmerized by their graceful dance.

After the swordplay of the previous day, they had spent today making their way toward the city. Sometimes they had walked, other times they had run, but they hadn't yet flown.

Arya moved over to him and wriggled her way into the protective curve of his body, settling between his knees with her back against his chest and her head drooping against his shoulder in sleepy contentment. Eragon crossed his arms over her chest and wrapped his hands around either of her upper arms. She rested one hand on his bicep and slid her other arm back until her elbow was in the crook of his hip. Her forearm extended up his thigh, and she lightly rested her hand on his leg.

It was a comfortable position, intimate in nature but made less so in the way Arya acted while assuming it. She merely sought comfort within his warm embrace. Right then, Eragon's stomach rumbled, revealing his never-ending hunger.

"Are you still hungry?" Arya drowsily muttered.

"Aye," Eragon assented. "But I'm used to it. I rarely feel full for longer than an hour, even after a large meal, and it's even more pronounced after much physical activity, as with these last several days. One of the effects of eating only plants." He wasn't complaining, just explaining. He knew Arya understood his choices in a diet, as she believed and lived them herself. "It's good though. Keeps my mind sharp, my body fit."

At this, Arya murmured appreciatively—a languid "Mmmm"—as she slowly drew the hand on his arm over the curve of his bicep, pressing her thumb into him to feel its shape, while at the same time sliding her other hand down his leg so her fingers could perform a similar examination along the length of his thigh. "That it does," she purred, admiring his unyielding strength.

These expressions of her shameless enjoyment of his body most surprised Eragon, as self-deprecating as he was. He sighed wearily, pushing his head against the tree and clenching his jaw in an effort to keep the rest of his body relaxed. Arya's actions and words unintentionally excited him, and Eragon willed his arousal not to take shape in the way it wanted, as it would surely be obvious in her current location.

Eragon knew Arya wasn't trying this time, as she playfully had on a couple of occasions in the past days—tempting him to forsake his self-restraint and give into her advances. Maybe it felt so much more difficult this time because he was caught with his defenses down.

But Arya didn't even have to try. Simply being in her presence was enough to create a deep churning sensation within Eragon's body, a hunger completely different from the one she had noticed a moment before.

Apparently his efforts failed, the tension in his chest alerting Arya that something was amiss. "Are you well, Eragon?"

"No," he growled through clenched teeth. "I'm desperate for you, Arya. My self-control is weakening, and you weren't even trying that time." He saw no point in lying, nor could he have in the ancient language. Besides, he was too focused on his effort to remain calm to even attempt it. His even breathing in and out was forced.

"I'm so sorry, Eragon," Arya whispered in dismay. She clasped her hands between her knees, trapping them there to keep them from making any more careless mistakes. "You're right, I wasn't trying. I gave no thought to how my actions would affect you. It was insensitive of me."

Eragon laughed roughly but found that conversation helped distract him, so he continued, "Arya, it's not your fault. I guess you might see it that way but truly, it's just me and my reaction to you. I have loved you so long and want you so desperately that there's no way you can be—in sleep or wakefulness, near me or far—without me longing for you. I always see your beauty, your grace and just _want_ you . . ." He trailed off, realizing that _this_ tone of conversation was perhaps not helpful after all.

Arya shifted and sat forward as she softly asked, "Would it help if I moved? I do not wish to cause you suffering." But Eragon could hear her reluctance to abandon the warmth of his body.

"No, I don't want you to move," he said, tightening his arms to keep her there. "As I said, no matter where you are or what you're doing, it's always the same. I just knew in this close proximity to me you would be acutely aware of my arousal and perhaps uncomfortable. Thus the tension, my attempt to control it."

"Let us not wait any longer, Eragon," Arya implored after a moment of silence. She twisted slightly to look at his face. "Tomorrow we should fly the rest of the way to the city and get married at once. Surely the others have attended to any minor preparations they might have planned. We can resume our exploration of the island thereafter—if we so desire—as husband and wife, free to immediately pursue any tender passions we feel. I appreciate your self-control and your respect of me, but it is foolishness to constantly fight what should be a natural expression of our love. And it's not fair to you. I can't bear to cause a longing you can't satisfy just by my presence."

Eragon relaxed then, resting his chin against the top of her head. "I like the sound of that. Knowing we needn't wait much longer is comforting. We will fly tomorrow." He gently gathered her hair from between their bodies and draped it around the front of her shoulder where it wouldn't be pulled. He had learned to be considerate of her comfort during their traveling together, and he enjoyed the warm, light pressure across his arms.

"Thank you," Arya murmured, sounding drowsy again.

But before she drifted off, Eragon quietly said, "I have something I would like to give you, Arya. May I now?"

Arya nodded, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she turned to face him. She shifted her body until they were perpendicular and she was leaning against one of his raised knees with her legs resting on his torso. Eragon straightened his other leg and removed the wedding band from his pocket, keeping it enclosed within his palm until he was ready to reveal it. Arya's curiosity must have driven any thought of sleep from her mind, and she watched him alertly.

"I made a token of our love and union for you. If it pleases you, I hope you will wear it, though it isn't customary for elves." Eragon opened his hand to reveal the golden ring, holding it out to her.

As recognition lit her eyes, Arya gasped and reached for the ring. She closely examined it, admiring the delicate beauty of the lilies and their intertwined stems. "It's _so_ _beautiful_ , Eragon!" she praised. "The lily you sang for me. It's gorgeous!"

Eragon smiled at her unabashed reaction. "I'm glad you like it. There's more."

Arya turned the ring to discover his meaning. When she noticed the words engraved on the inside of the band, she held it up to read them. He felt her stiffen and tremble as recognition of her true name coursed through her. "You discovered it!" she exclaimed, wide-eyed. "I had forgotten I even asked."

Arya circled her arms around his neck. "I love it," she murmured. " _Love_ it. And I will proudly wear it, now and forevermore." She released him so she could slip the ring onto the third finger of her left hand, where humans customarily wore their wedding bands.

She murmured some words in the ancient language, infusing them with power as the silvery mark on her left palm flared with a brilliant glow. She wove a spell to keep the band bright and untarnished and also to keep it from ever being removed from her finger.

Her eyes shimmered with tears as she lifted them to look at him. "Thank you, Eragon," she breathed. "I have never before received such a beautiful gift. I will guard our true names with the strength of my love." Then her gaze slid back to the ring and she smiled.

Eragon was pleased but also somewhat worried by her last declaration. "You are most welcome, Arya." Her reaction at receiving the ring was more perfect than Eragon would have ever hoped, but he expressed his concern by adding, "Although I didn't even consider the potential danger of inscribing our true names on the back. I'm sorry for my thoughtlessness even as I was trying to be thoughtful."

"It is of no consequence now," Arya dismissed. "We are the only two who know of it, and this ring will never leave my finger. Not even under an attempt to forcibly remove it nor were my hand to be cut from my arm." Eragon grimaced at the notion. "When did you make it?" Arya asked at length, never moving her eyes from the ring. She tilted her hand at different angles so the firelight glittered in the gold.

"Mostly last night while you slept, though I began the night before and you asked about it."

"What of my true name?" Arya wondered. "How did you do it?"

"I discovered it while I made your ring," Eragon replied. "As I had done with Sloan, I contemplated all I knew of you and a phrase came to my mind that seemed to encompass your being, so I whispered it and you responded."

Arya rested her head against his shoulder and her left hand on his arm where she could clearly see the ring. "Thank you, Eragon," she whispered again. "I'll have to make you one in return. I love you, my darling."

Eragon smiled, for her endearment somehow felt natural. "And I love you, Arya," he said. "I would certainly wear a ring if you went to the trouble of making one, but I don't expect it."

"I will," Arya vowed. Then she relaxed in his arms, her eyelids drooping until her waking dreams overtook her. Eragon focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing, resuming his previous study of the fire until it was a small pile of faintly glowing embers before allowing himself to also drift off.


	18. City

**18\. City**

When he awoke, Eragon was surprised to find himself alone. He didn't remember Arya leaving, but he was sure she was fine, a sentiment confirmed by Saphira as she learned it from Fírnen. He began preparing something for breakfast and packing the saddlebags. Saphira and Fírnen were off together, but they knew Arya and Eragon finally wished to fly to the city that morning.

After about half an hour, when Eragon had started to worry, Arya emerged from the trees running, breathless but excited.

"I'm sorry to be gone so long, Eragon. I was searching for something specific, and it took longer than I expected. But I found what I was looking for." When she reached him, Arya proudly held up her hand. "For you," she said, smiling eagerly.

On her open palm lay a simple but striking band woven out of sapphires and emeralds. There was a subtle texture and ridged pattern that reminded Eragon of Saphira's scales, though not as rough and prickly. The two gems intertwined around one another in a thin twist, forming an unending circle.

"Without much time to consider it, I also attempted something symbolic," Arya explained. "It is meant to be a representation of Saphira and Fírnen, the dragons who brought us together in the beginning and end." Eragon perceived that she was nervous he might not like it.

Eragon stared at the ring in amazement before gingerly reaching for it. "I'm at a loss for words," he said. "It's incredible."

"I hope you don't mind the brilliance of the gems," Arya apologized. "Do you like it?"

Eragon reluctantly pried his gaze from the ring and looked at her incredulously. " _Like_ it? I _do_ like it, Arya. Words cannot even begin to express just how much I like it."

Arya let her breath out in relief, his only clue she had even been holding it. Eragon wrapped her in a tight embrace. "I still can't believe this is happening—that you're here, that we will marry, maybe even later today. And then we get to make . . ." he trailed off uncertainly, not wanting to offend her.

"Make love," she finished for him, staring straight into his eyes. "It will be beautiful."

Eragon nodded solemnly. "Yes, it will. I've wanted to for so long, wanted you as my wife for so long, and it's surreal that it's actually happening now. Thank you for this, Arya."

Without loosening his hold, Eragon slid the ring on the third finger of his left hand, admiring it over her shoulder. It was a fine adornment—the nicest he had ever owned and easily his favorite, even over Aren, the ring he had inherited from his father.

"Let me see how it looks," Arya requested. Eragon raised his left hand, and she reached for it to perform her examination. Apparently satisfied, she said, "It's a good fit and looks very handsome indeed. I like the contrast of blue and green against your tan skin."

"I think Saphira and Fírnen will like it too," Eragon murmured against her hair, noticing that her delicate scent was even stronger after running in the forest. He closed his eyes, prolonging the moment as much as possible, when his stomach rumbled impressively.

Arya laughed, and he smiled sheepishly. "I see you have prepared something to eat," she observed.

"Aye," Eragon replied.

"Shall we then?" Arya began to pull away, but Eragon held her long enough to gently kiss her lips before releasing her.

She raised her eyebrows. "That was nice. I'll be glad when we don't have to limit it any longer."

He nodded his agreement, and then they ate.

Saphira and Fírnen knew the precise time to return. Arya and Eragon had just cleaned up breakfast when they swooped into the clearing. Without being prompted, Saphira immediately noticed the rings they each wore, their simple beauty and brilliance catching her sharp eye.

Snaking her head closer, Saphira studied Arya and Eragon's hands, which they both held up at her request. _They are magnificent,_ she approved. _The symbolism and personal meaning increase their already considerable beauty._

 _Mine represents you and Fírnen,_ Eragon shared. _Though nothing could match your beauty, Saphira._ She hummed, pleased. _Save Arya perhaps,_ he amended. _She has done a masterful job._

Arya smiled at the praise. _Yes_ , she agreed. _No gem could rival your splendor, nor yours, Fírnen._

Fírnen also bent down for a closer look. _I recognize the lilies on Arya's band as the same you created for her, Eragon. She told me of that moment. A splendid rendering. Well done, little ones._

Without further ado, Arya and Eragon secured the saddles to their dragons and prepared to depart, both anxious to return the city and begin their life together as husband and wife.

Since they had covered some distance the day before, the flight to the city lasted less than two hours. The dragons flew low, and Arya admired the land passing beneath them. She and Eragon communicated with their minds rather than trying to yell over the wind. Fírnen and Saphira couldn't fly any closer together than their wingspans allowed, and that was some distance. The short flight was the longest Eragon and Arya had been apart since Arya had arrived four days earlier.

They passed over forests and grasslands, mountains and valleys. Arya noticed the abundant herds of gazelle and other gentle wildlife below. As they neared the city, Arya had the thrilling experience of recognizing dozens of dragons of all imaginable hues flying about. Many swiftly approached as they recognized Saphira, whom they regarded with respectful deference, though their thoughts all expressed an eager excitement.

 _I scryed Murtagh this morning in the forest,_ Arya explained, _to let him know we were returning today. Perhaps the news has spread._

 _No doubt it has,_ Eragon thought. _The union of two Riders is a significant event. The first of its kind in over a century._

 _And between an elf and a human, no less,_ Arya added.

When the city came into view, Arya's thoughts revealed her awe.

 _I know you always wished to see the ancient home of the Riders at Doru Araeba,_ Eragon said _. I regret that I was never able to take you there, but its appearance was almost identical to what you can now see of the city. Before all the destruction caused by Galbatorix, that is._

 _It's breathtaking,_ Arya said _. I actually visited the city once with the Eldunarí you left. They helped me take the necessary precautions so we would be safe. It was depressing, and I think my longing to go when you first went had a lot to do with wanting to be with you. I'm glad I at least got to see it, but this is magnificent!_

They soon reached the sprawling courtyard before the main hall of the city, which was large enough for dozens of dragons. A welcoming party awaited them consisting of the other inhabitants of the Isle: Murtagh and the Riders, Blödhgarm and the elves, and many dragons, both bonded and wild.

Saphira and Fírnen landed an appropriate distance away to avoid buffeting those on the ground with the booming gusts from their wings. Arya and Eragon dismounted, rejoining each other and holding hands as they approached the party.

Arya formally greeted the elves with her hand turned over her collarbone, initiating the three phrases exchanged upon meeting. Eragon saw Murtagh smiling slightly at her formality, which she had abandoned to greet him. The other Riders approached Eragon with many handshakes, embraces, and congratulations. They observed Arya with cautious reverence as they finally beheld the object of his affection.

Eragon glanced over in time to notice Arya's dazed expression. _You're something of a legend to them,_ he remarked.

Arya nodded. _It reminds me of the way the Varden regarded Katrina when Roran returned with her. I never thought to have such worshipful reverence directed toward me. And I was a queen less than a month ago!_

Eragon smiled and reassuringly squeezed her hand. _They're glad you're here. I'll be a much different man now._ And then he turned his attention back to the others.


	19. Surprise

**19\. Surprise**

"What's the plan?" Eragon asked after the commotion died down. He glanced between Murtagh and Blödhgarm, unsure who had overseen the wedding preparations, if any.

Willow surprised him by saying, "It's now just before midday. We prepared a small wedding luncheon since I knew you would be hungry. All of you men are always hungry. The ceremony will follow. Murtagh is prepared to solemnize your union. Thereafter, we will enjoy a larger wedding feast, and that's all we have planned. Though," she glanced teasingly at Blödhgarm, "the elves might favor us with some song and dance, if they deem fit."

Blödhgarm and the other elves smiled merrily. "We guessed you wouldn't wish for more celebration than that. But I had a wonderful time preparing for this. I'm so excited for you, Eragon!" Willow concluded with a delighted smile.

Eragon knew Willow viewed him as a beloved older brother, since she was only a handful of years younger than he, just as he thought of her as a sweet little sister. He guessed that seeing him so happy after knowing him to be only solemn and stern in all her years on the Isle was nothing short of a miraculous transformation in Willow's mind.

"Oh, and we made you some wedding clothes," Willow added with a pointed stare at his bare chest. They were all accustomed to Eragon going around without a shirt. There wasn't much the Riders kept from each other, and there was no reason for them to suspect that Eragon was no longer burdened by excessive heat.

Eragon hugged Willow. "Thank you for doing this for us, Willow. It means more to me than I can say."

"It was my pleasure. Not that our days are ever boring, but this brought a welcome difference to the unvarying routine on the Isle. Yelloweyes has been most helpful too," Willow said, nudging Varhog, who was standing beside her, and giving him a warm smile. Eragon happen to see that Arya noted this exchange with interest.

-:-:-

Arya was observing Willow in attentive fascination when Eragon brought her around to face the younger female. By way of introduction Eragon said, "Arya, this is Willow, the first female human Rider, who joined us on the Isle almost seven years ago with her dragon Sunset."

At that, a remarkably-colored dragon raised her head and trumpeted her identity. She had scales of a deep, pinkish-orange hue, which did remind Arya strikingly of a breathtaking sunset.

Eragon finished, "Willow, as you have undoubtedly guessed, this is Arya, the woman I've always loved."

Smiling brightly at Eragon's unreserved statement, Willow gushed, "It's an honor to meet you, Arya Svit-kona." She flawlessly performed the formal greeting of the elves. "I haven't heard much about you, but I have observed much nonetheless. It's amazing to see Eragon this happy. Murtagh warned I might not recognize him, and indeed, I almost didn't. Though the stubble could also be part of that." She grinned teasingly at Eragon.

Arya nodded graciously at Willow's respectful greeting and completed the traditional elven salutation before saying, "It's delightful to meet you."

Willow then grabbed Varhog's arm and said, "And this is Yelloweyes, although I suppose that's just my nickname for him. You already know him, since he began his instruction as a Rider in Ellesméra, so here he is again." Willow laughed at herself, and the Urgal smiled affectionately.

Varhog turned his attention to Arya and touched the first two fingers of his right hand to his lips as he performed the customary greeting of the elves, beginning with the first of the three phrases and finishing them after Arya said her part. He then added, "It's a pleasure to see you again after all these years, Arya Svit-kona. So you're the woman Firesword has long loved? I now better understand his difficulty. I'm glad you have overcome the barriers between you and are together. He is completely altered." Varhog reached out and carefully clapped Eragon on the shoulder, but Arya noticed that he didn't move the arm Willow still held in a friendly gesture.

Craning her neck to look at his face, Arya responded, "Varhog, you're also quite altered from when last I saw you almost nine years ago. You have grown so much! As has your dragon. And your command of the ancient language is impeccable." She was duly impressed.

Varhog bowed his head in modest acknowledgement of her praise. "I've had much opportunity to learn here on the Isle and have had a most worthy example to emulate." This was said with a respectful nod toward Eragon, and Arya smiled at his compliment. "As for the growth, there's not much I could do about that thanks to my bond with Black Thunder. I just hope it's over now, though he'll continue growing, otherwise I'll end up taller than any Kull. I'm quite tall enough for my liking as it is." He glanced down at Willow, who was a foot shorter than he, though she was as tall as Arya herself.

Willow was listening to Varhog with an amiable expression, continuing to hold his arm in both of her hands. She smiled at him when he looked at her. Arya could see they were dear friends, which surprised her more than a little.

"Yes," Willow mischievously agreed. "If you get much taller, I'll never be able to defeat you as I currently can, now will I, Yelloweyes?"

Varhog chuckled. It was a deep, vibrating sound, which Arya clearly saw filled Willow with rapturous joy. "No, Eartheyes," the Urgal tenderly said. "You'll always be able to subdue me, no matter how tall I am. But I have remained at this height for some years, so I think I can safely count on stopping here."

Willow laughed and, from the affectionate look in his eyes, Arya began to think that Varhog's feelings were deeper than friendship. She would have sworn his statement contained an obvious double meaning, which Willow also seemed to suspect. But the thought of an Urgal ram being fond of a human woman was so foreign to Arya that she carefully kept her suspicions from affecting her expression. As Willow and Varhog were done speaking, they all looked expectantly at Eragon.

The others had remained where they were during this exchange, and the long pause alerted Eragon to the fact that they were waiting for him. "Shall we eat then?" he suggested. "That truly does sound welcome." This was met with a number of appreciative chuckles, and Arya guessed that the many male Riders shared Eragon's constant appetite.

As the group walked toward the hall, Eragon attempted to interact with each of the Riders. He apologized for his absence, asked after their training, and personally introduced Arya to those she hadn't previously met. Arya saw that they all loved and respected him, but their relationships seemed comfortable—that of friends, not master and student. He wasn't many years their senior after all, and was in fact younger in age than most of them. Arya felt a strange yearning that she had missed out on this companionship, but it was softened by the knowledge she was here and would be a part of it from then on.

Just as they were about to enter the Great Hall, a sound reached their ears from the far side of the impressive courtyard. Arya could make out a figure bustling toward them and after a few moments, she felt a growing astonishment as she recognized none other than Angela the herbalist hurrying their way.

When Angela was close enough, she panted, "Surprise! I haven't missed it, have I?

"Angela?" Eragon stammered, bewildered.

"The very same!" Angela snapped in exasperation. "Well, I haven't missed it then, have I? Your wedding? The union between two Riders, an elf and a human no less, is a special event indeed," she prattled, echoing the same thoughts Arya and Eragon had so recently shared. "And to think, not even a personal invitation for the one who predicted your epic romance, Shadeslayer! Having to guess the truth from hearsay! Unpardonable!"

Arya could sense how difficult it was for Eragon to muster the wherewithal to respond. "No, Angela, you haven't missed it. But how . . . _how_ did you know? And get here in time?"

"Well, I may not be as fast as a dragon, but I have my ways of moving swiftly when needed!" Angela retorted.

Murtagh quietly entered the exchange with, "I scryed Nasuada with the news. She and the other leaders in Alagaёsia will witness the ceremony through a scrying mirror. Could you have heard that way?"

"Of course not!" Angela indignantly responded. "I haven't been in the high queen's court for years, what with her policies on magic usage. I started here the moment I knew Arya left the elves. _Anyone_ could have guessed what _that_ meant!"

Arya, who was as dumbstruck as Eragon, then asserted, "How could you have known that? And you claim you're not as swift as a dragon, yet I departed Ellesméra just over a week before my arrival here not five days ago. How is that possible, wise one?"

"I have my ways," Angela repeated, this time reminiscent of her characteristically mysterious manner, which emerged as her annoyance ebbed.

"I wonder if we'll ever learn of your secrets," Eragon muttered in bemusement.

"Not likely, Shadeslayer," Angela replied brightly, a twinkle returning to her eyes. Apparently satisfied that she had arrived in time, she finished, "Let me not detain you! Well, let's be off then!" And she hustled forward through the spacious entryway to the Great Hall, her dark curls bouncing and the others following in silent disbelief.


	20. Willow

**20\. Willow**

The luncheon was modest, and Eragon guessed the greater effort had gone into the feast Willow had mentioned, which would take place not long after lunch. It was a jovial affair, and all present were glad to have Eragon back. They were even gladder that he was so much happier—smiling, laughing, and joking as they had never before witnessed.

The fare was similar to what Eragon and Arya had subsisted on in the previous few days, but it was more abundant. Eragon ate heartily, attempting to fill himself and knowing he would be hungry again even if they ate dinner in an hour.

After the meal, Willow insisted Eragon bathe. "You smell as if you've been traveling for four days," she bluntly stated. "And you should shave for your wedding."

Eragon absently rubbed his cheek, having all but forgotten the growth there, and sniffed himself. He grimaced in agreement. "Very well. You're like the younger sister I never had," he said to Willow with a grateful expression.

-:-:-

Arya found it odd that she had never thought Eragon smelled unpleasant in their time together. She wondered what that could mean, if anything.

Willow then respectfully addressed her, "And while you certainly do not appear in need of a bath, as my _brother_ here, if you desire one, I can show you to my room. I prepared it for your use and have the clothes we made you for the ceremony."

Arya graciously accepted and followed Willow out of the dining area toward the living quarters. As they walked, Willow easily conversed, describing life on the Isle. "For the most part, we all have our private chambers off the Great Hall, which makes it easier. We're always free to stay elsewhere if we want, but our dragons have large resting areas in our rooms so we needn't be parted."

"How do you like being a Rider?" Arya asked.

"It's wonderful!" Willow answered. "I love flying, and the bond with Sunset has been my greatest comfort next to my friendship with Varhog. But it's still lonely sometimes. I'm glad you're here now. I hope we can be friends. We Riders feel greater regard for one another than most groups of such mixed races, but Eragon and Murtagh are the only other humans except Tomath, and they were so hopelessly in love with women who were hundreds of miles away.

"The female elves are wise and regal but so formal. They treat me as if I'm a child, which I suppose I am in their eyes. When I first came here, Knilf and Varhog still hated each other, and I was so nervous around Eragon that Varhog and I became friends. All the others are wonderful, to be sure, but they all seem like brothers to me. Then, when Tomath came so young, I felt like I needed to be his mother. We're like one big, strange family and I the only female."

Arya laughed at the idea, finding Willow's openness refreshing. "I'm sure we will be great friends."

Willow smiled at her. "I suppose you're also much older than myself."

"I'm one hundred and twelve years old," Arya confirmed.

This didn't seem to surprise Willow, for Blödhgarm and the other elves who had come with Eragon to the Isle were many times older. "Well, Eragon once hinted that his young age was a large obstacle for you. If you have come to overlook that, perhaps you also won't mind _my_ relative youthfulness."

Arya was curious about something so she asked, "Eragon joked that you're like the sister he never had. You seem to have a comfortable relationship. Has it always been that way?"

"For the most part," Willow replied. "I was so dumbfounded when Sunset hatched for me. The new Riders were—are—still such a novel thing in Alagaёsia. No one really thinks a dragon egg will hatch for them, though many like myself dearly hope for it. The chances are so slim and the honor so great that it just seemed like it would never happen for one such as myself. I suppose the dragons search for something different than many people would—not to imply I'm something special.

"Anyway, when I first came here, Murtagh and I had already developed a friendship, since he helped me raise Sunset. But Eragon was very mysterious to the people in Alagaёsia, attaining almost god-like levels of deference because of his role during the war. Then he up and disappeared not long after. I was very timid and nervous around him. But when I learned that he was a few years younger than Murtagh, who already seemed like my older brother, he seemed less intimidating. I was barely sixteen, but Eragon was only twenty-two. Ever since then, they've both been like older brothers to me—protective and teasing and kind. It didn't take long for us to become friends. I suppose there might have been a chance I would have come to fancy one of them if it hadn't been for the fact that their hearts so clearly belonged to others. There would have been no point. And now that I've met you, it's no wonder Eragon felt that way. Already I feel a reverent awe in your presence."

Arya had appreciated her openness a moment before, but she found it almost surprising after Willow's final comment. Willow seemed to have no difficulty saying whatever she felt, provided it was appropriate, perhaps evidence of her many years living among so many males. But it was so foreign compared to what Arya was used to, as stuffy as the elves were about things such as propriety and delicacy.

They reached Willow's room, and she opened the door for Arya before turning to go. "Will you stay and help me?" Arya requested. She enjoyed Willow's company and wished to learn more of her.

"It would be an honor," Willow accepted, entering the room after Arya and closing the door behind them. "I suppose we ought to be efficient. I'm sure Eragon won't take long and will be eagerly awaiting his bride." She smiled brightly at the thought. "I'm so happy for him. And you. He's so good and wise, and he has been so patient. It seems he has somehow earned this, if such a thing can be said."

"It seems to come naturally to you to be happy for another," Arya said, experimenting with the same level of sincerity Willow used.

"I suppose," Willow said with an apologetic shrug. "Eragon has been sad for so long. He never complained and was always fiercely dedicated to his work here, but he went through so much in Alagaёsia and has been isolated from the one person he most wanted to be with. I always noticed. He couldn't keep it from his eyes."

Willow picked up a hairbrush and began running it through Arya's hair, her familiar manner once again surprising. "We should brush it before washing," she suggested. "To remove anything that might have gotten stuck."

Arya had never experienced someone else brushing her hair, not even her mother, and it was delightful. Willow brushed gently and with a practiced hand, for her hair was also long. But unlike Arya's, Willow's was a warm brown color, as were her eyes. She was very pretty and truly did look as if she could be Eragon's sister.

Willow complimented, "You have lovely hair. It's so thick and shiny. And it smells like fresh pine needles."

Arya couldn't keep herself from giggling, which she found odd. She couldn't recall a time when she had _ever_ giggled before coming to the Isle, though Eragon had succeeded in eliciting the response a number of times in the previous few days. "That's what Eragon says too, though I've never noticed it myself."

Willow giggled too. It was such an unusual exchange for Arya, and she wondered if this was what it felt like to have a sister. Elves were, almost as a rule, always only children. It was so rare for an elven couple to have even one child, and none in the past several centuries had ever had two.

As Willow finished, she pointed at the basin for bathing through the washroom door. "I can leave if you would like some privacy," she offered.

"That's not necessary," Arya said. "Perhaps if you just turn. I'd like to have your company."

Willow obliged. Arya undressed and entered the water, savoring how soothing it felt and wishing she could relax in it for an hour. But Willow had spoken sense. Eragon, though not one to complain, would likely not appreciate waiting too long in this particular situation. She swiftly washed her body and hair before emerging from the water to grab a towel near the basin.

Once Arya was dry, she asked Willow, "What am I to wear?"

Willow had a few articles of clothing draped over her arms. "The elves knew you before and made these. They seemed confident, as they always do I suppose, that they would fit and you would like them." She handed Arya a sleeveless silk shirt the color of ivory and fitted tan-colored leggings meant to reach just below her knees then turned so Arya could don them.

"What next?" Arya asked once she had. "Or is that all? They must have had Eragon's desires in mind if this is all they meant for me to wear." She laughed liltingly, as did Willow.

"True," Willow agreed. "There's more, but let's do your hair first."

Arya raised her eyebrows. She had never really _done_ anything with her hair. She usually allowed it to flow naturally or secured it away from her face, though she also sometimes wove flowers into it, which was what Willow seemed to have in mind.

With Willow guiding her by the shoulders, Arya sat down at a vanity. Willow stood behind her, murmuring the spell to dry Arya's hair. The water dripped to the stone floor behind the chair. "Learning that made my life so much easier," Willow remarked.

"It's one of my favorites too." Arya noticed a small tool on the table meant for cleaning and filing one's fingernails. She picked it up and began grooming her own nails, glad she had the chance. She had noticed in the bath how dirty they looked, but in her haste she hadn't given them due attention.

As Willow once again began brushing her hair, Arya asked, "Where are you from, Willow?"

"I'm from Feinster," Willow replied. "My family was of the upper middle class as my father was a merchant. My mother passed away when I was five, giving birth to my younger brother. I helped raise him, but he was sickly and weak and died when I was ten." Arya could see from Willow's reflection in the mirror that her eyes looked misty. "Perhaps if I had only known magic then. . . . Father was so heartbroken by the loss of mother and William that he was soon upon his deathbed, though still relatively young. He died just before I flew here with Sunset, at peace I believe, that I would be safe and cared for with the Riders. I'm glad he got to meet her. He helped me raise Sunset, along with Murtagh. It was a joyful time, one I'll always fondly remember. I'm glad it was brighter at the end with father. Things had been dark and dismal for years."

"How did Sunset come to hatch for you?" Arya asked. "She's a gorgeous dragon, just the color her name would imply."

Willow began weaving strands of delicate emerald-colored vines with exquisite white blossoms through Arya's hair. "I'm sure Eragon will like it best if we just leave it down," Willow muttered under her breath. To Arya's question she responded, "The young people, ages thirteen through twenty, assembled together in Ilirea when Murtagh arrived with the egg. It was quite a large crowd, with youth from all of the lands present. No regard was given to birth or station.

"The process took many weeks. We each got to hold the dragon egg for a brief time, to speak our name by way of introduction, and say or think whatever else we wanted, so she was familiar with each person for whom she might potentially hatch. Thereafter, we each got to have possession of the egg for a full day under Murtagh's supervision, so there was no confusion as to who the dragon truly hatched for. The dragons were aware of the rules, having helped develop them. I thought it so fascinating that she was aware within her egg though not yet even a hatchling.

"On our day with the egg, there were no rules but that we treat the egg with respect and care, which almost went without saying. We could do as much or as little as we wished and say whatever we wanted. Murtagh encouraged me to be myself so she would know who I truly was. That was hard because I wanted to impress her and seem like a good match. When her egg began to hatch in my hands, I was so surprised! I had tried not to seem desperate, knowing it would be unbecoming and perhaps offend the dragon, but my desire was so intense and pure . . ." Willow trailed off with wonder in her voice and tears in her eyes at the memory.

Arya said, "I too always wished to be a Dragon Rider, Willow. It is the highest honor I can imagine. Or that I could imagine at the time. I felt similar awe when Fírnen began to hatch for me."

"And when I first touched her," Willow picked up, "it was indescribable! That icy, tingling sensation! Suddenly I felt the wisdom and intelligence of the ages fill my mind and heart. I've never felt such tremendous joy!"

Arya laughed at Willow's rapturous account. Willow placed an elegant golden circlet on Arya's brow like a crown. "There's nothing more I can do to improve your beauty, if I did at all. You're divine," Willow said without pretense, studying Arya in the mirror.

As Arya finished her own task, she held her hands up to examine her work. Satisfied, she began to rise, but Willow caught sight of Arya's ring and imploringly reached for her hand, seeking permission with her eyes.

Arya proudly offered her hand so Willow could examine the ring. "It's exquisite," Willow breathed. "I've never seen anything like that. And it matches the circlet, as if we planned it."

"Eragon once sang a flower into being for me during our travels. It was a beautiful lily. I had just told him about the most painful time of my life. He knew of elven customs and what it would mean to me."

"How romantic," Willow sighed.

Arya realized it truly was romantic. Eragon had always been so careful around her, worried she would overreact and interpret his every gesture as an expression of love. She wondered that he had persisted in his feelings for her, as much as she had discouraged him.

"What was even more amazing is that quite literally out of nowhere, a group of spirits soared to us then, and their joy at learning that Eragon had slain a Shade—thereby releasing several of their brethren from a most abominable prison—was so great that they transformed the lily he had given me into pure gold and gemstones. Eragon patterned this ring after that, knowing what it too would mean to me."

"You're fortunate to have him, Arya, though I'm sure you know that," Willow stated. "Now let me get you your gown."

Willow retrieved the dress and held it out to Arya. Arya stepped into it so she wouldn't damage Willow's artful design of her hair by pulling it on over her head. Willow helped her slip into it, holding up her hair so Arya could slide in one arm at a time and pull the gown over her shoulders.

It was a serenely beautiful gown, pale as the moon, with sleeves that fitted her arms to the elbow before flowing out below her fingers without covering her hands. The bodice consisted of a delicate crisscross of laces to allow easier access in and out of the dress. The dress was trim against her form down to her hips, where it once again flowed out into a swirling skirt, resting a perfect length just upon the ground. As the elves had sung it out of silk, there were no seams anywhere. Arya tightened the laces at the bodice, noticing as she did that it created a flattering neckline.

"The elves were right. It's a perfect fit," Willow admired. "And were they also right that you would like it?"

"Yes," Arya breathed. "It's the loveliest gown I have ever worn and perfectly suited to my tastes—simple yet elegant."

"You look like a goddess," Willow observed. "Eragon will be pleased."

"Though I'm sure he will just as soon want me out of it," Arya quipped.

Willow laughed. "The elves thought you would prefer to be barefooted. But they also provided stockings and dress shoes, just in case."

"I will remain barefoot," Arya replied. "Thank you, Willow. This is more than I would have dreamed. So perfect. And to think you planned it all within two days. Is there anything else, or am I ready?"

"The elves did most of it," Willow modestly dismissed. "They simply let me oversee since weddings are a human custom. And that's all. You are ready. Let us keep them waiting no longer. The ceremony will be in the Great Hall so the dragons can be present."

As they began to make their way back to the hall, Willow asked, "Are you nervous? To get married, I mean."

Arya smiled and said, "I've never been surer of anything in my life."

Willow seemed satisfied and asked no further questions the rest of their walk, though she chatted amiably the whole way.


	21. Wedding

**21\. Wedding**

Eragon took his time preparing for his wedding, knowing he would still finish before Arya. After bathing, he removed the whiskers from his face with his usual spell. If Arya wished for him to regrow them, it would require no effort, but he wanted his face clean-shaven for this most important occasion.

The elves had provided him with fine dress clothing, sung from silk and leather to a perfect fit. He wore handsome leather pants, a loose silk shirt that opened in a point at the top of his chest, and a leather tunic over that. He pulled on the heavy boots laying out, already knowing he would remove them before he and Arya left so he wouldn't be encumbered by extra weight.

When Eragon was finished, he left his quarters. As he walked past the door to Willow's room, he heard sounds of laughter on the other side and smiled, wondering what the two women were talking about. He continued on to the Great Hall where the Riders and elves were setting out dishes for the feast, warming the food with magic as needed.

Once Eragon arrived, he automatically began to help as he always had, easily engaging in comfortable conversation with his comrades, though it was more pleasant because of his greater cheer. He briefly visited with Nasuada, Orik, and Nar Garzhvog through a scrying mirror, and each extended their warmest congratulations.

Not as much time had elapsed as Eragon expected before Willow entered from the doorway to the living quarters and announced, "The bride is ready. Let us begin." She then walked over to join the Riders.

Murtagh excused himself from his conversation with Nasuada, and he and Eragon approached the front of the room where those in attendance would most easily see them. Eragon expectantly faced the door through which Willow had emerged.

Arya then entered, swiftly walking to stand beside Eragon, obviously conscious that every eye was on her. Eragon guessed that she had no desire to prolong the moment of attention with a measured march.

Eragon carefully controlled his emotions, though he was truly stunned by how gorgeous Arya looked. He had rarely seen her in a dress, and the gown she wore flattered her perfect body in the most torturous way. He merely said, "You look ravishing," and took her hand, not wanting to embarrass her in front of the assembly with flowery praise.

They faced Murtagh, who began without preamble, "We gather together before you, Eragon, and you, Arya, as honored guests to witness your union as husband and wife. Long has been the road to this point and many the trials you have overcome together, always to emerge triumphant despite the forces conspiring against you."

Eragon glanced at Arya, surprised Murtagh articulated the exact pattern they had identified. Murtagh continued, "Eragon, we are all indebted to you in some way, and I speak for everyone when I say your happiness now is what we most sincerely desired for you. Have you anything you wish to say to one another?"

Eragon appreciated Murtagh's succinct directness. This was no traditional wedding ceremony, but it felt perfect.

Arya surprised him by speaking first. In a voice clear and strong she said, "Eragon, you are a true hero in word and deed. You saved our world from an unspeakable future, yet it was not your heroic feats that defined you, but your quiet acts of humility, selflessness, and mercy. Through them I came to see who you truly are. I am honored to have your love, though I feel myself unworthy." Lowering her voice so only Eragon and Murtagh heard, Arya finished, "You are my savior, Eragon, _my_ hero. I freely give myself to you and will always love you."

Murtagh's eyes glistened as he glanced at Eragon. Eragon simply said, "I love you, Arya. I always have, and it has grown ever deeper with time. I promise to always protect you, to strive to deserve your love, and to fulfill your every desire. I am so much more with you than without. Thank you for coming to me." There was so much he could say, but there would be time for that.

Murtagh then said, "By the authority I seemingly hold as _eldest_ Dragon Rider," he paused and looked at Arya. "Save you, I suppose. And Hanin. And Knilf and Varhog." He laughed at himself. "Never mind. Well then, as elder brother of the most Senior Rider," he amended, grinning drolly at Eragon, "I hereby pronounce you Eragon, son of Brom, and you Arya, daughter of Islanzadí, husband and wife."


	22. Celebration and Gift

**22\. Celebration and Gift**

Eragon smiled before kissing Arya. _Man and wife,_ he triumphantly thought. _I am hers, she is mine_. The room around him disappeared, along with the clapping, cheering, and trumpeting from the small crowd of Riders, elves, and dragons. Eragon saw only Arya as she pressed against him in their wedding attire. His heart and body filled with an intense longing for her, which he now had his own permission to satisfy, as he had first bonded himself to her by word and vow to demonstrate his adoration and devotion.

"Just a little longer," Arya whispered, reading his emotions in his eyes. "Let us feast and rejoice with those who have honored us with this celebration."

Eragon knew she was right. He had waited patiently. A little longer wouldn't hurt. Too much.

They approached the crowd, receiving congratulations and embraces at every hand. Joyful music swelled in the room as the elves began a merry dance. Eragon laughed and spun Arya into the swirling fray, which clearly astonished her.

"And when did you learn to dance?" she asked.

"Here and there," Eragon vaguely replied. He had learned from the elves, of course, when their somber moods gave way to gaiety and fun. Though he had learned, Eragon had never truly enjoyed until then. The others joined in, and some of the male Riders jokingly linked as partners, as there weren't enough females to be paired with.

The dwarves—Knilf and Bodin—made a fine spectacle, especially when they insistently dragged Varhog into their circle, creating an awkward trio. That won them many guffaws for their efforts, and the humor from the onlookers only increased when Grintuk, the Kull Urgal, joined of his own accord. The two huge Urgals and stout dwarves tromped about in a circle, and all who witnessed were overcome with amusement.

Eragon danced mostly with Arya but also some with Willow, some with Angela, some with the other elves, and once even with Murtagh who, contrary to his normal formality, enjoyed the pleasantries with unreserved glee.

Eragon tried to take advantage of the moment to thank him for the wedding, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, Murtagh lifted his arm with a wry smile and spun Eragon under it, forcing Eragon into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at how absurd it seemed.

When he had recovered, Eragon quickly spoke, determined not to miss his chance. Fighting the mirth threatening to break forth at any moment, he said, "Thank you for performing the ceremony, brother. It was perfect."

"It was my pleasure, Eragon," Murtagh replied. "You have inspired me. I am taking a liking to this wedding business." And they broke to find new partners. Arya returned to Eragon while Murtagh swept Willow away from Varhog, who gave Murtagh a playfully menacing look as he did.

The merriment continued for some time, each ridiculous moment building on the previous until Willow declared with a good-natured smile—as a little sister would when she'd had enough of her older brothers' silliness: "Enough, you fools! Let's eat."

The feast was magnificent, fine enough to rival any spread in any kingdom of Alagaёsia, even without the presence of meat. Eragon was reminded why, despite his many flippant comments about eating only plants, he actually truly enjoyed it. The variety, colors, smells, and tastes of a plant-based diet were truly unsurpassable. The bounty of the gardens and orchards in midsummer was apparent in the innumerable dishes: casseroles, salads, breads, dips, trays, soups, and desserts, all of which were bursting with color and flavor, seasoned or spiced to perfection. They ate as much as they could, which was very nearly all of it. Seldom did any food remain after a meal, partly because their appetites truly demanded it, but also because they were loath to waste anything and carefully planned only what would be needed.

When everyone was finished, Willow, along with those nearest any leftovers, carried what remained to the kitchen. Varhog immediately helped her without being prompted. Eragon thought nothing of it—Varhog helping Willow was the most natural thing imaginable on the Isle—until he noticed Arya's reaction. She observed Varhog intently, and Varhog glanced at Arya as he felt the weight of her curious gaze upon him. He shrugged as she arched one eyebrow at him. Eragon decided to ask Arya about it later, if he remembered.

The Riders often did the cleaning with magic to speed the tedious task, so within a few moments, Willow and Varhog reappeared with several wrapped parcels, which they took to Murtagh. He accepted them and left, returning several minutes later with a small pack.

Murtagh approached Eragon with the pack, explaining, "It was Nasuada's idea. I wouldn't have been thoughtful enough to come up with it on my own. It's nothing really—mostly food, a blanket, water. Things of that nature, to make your _honeymoon_ more enjoyable." His teasing laugh didn't quite hide the envy in his eyes.

Eragon gratefully received the bundle. "Thank you, and thank Nasuada for us too, won't you? That _was_ considerate. I also wouldn't have thought of it."

Angela bounced over to them and asked, "Is it time for gifts, then? Well, I have something too." She handed Arya a small piece of cloth and waited expectantly while Arya held it up.

At first Eragon didn't recognize it, and Arya also seemed stumped. Then, as comprehension dawned on her, she gasped, pressing the gift to her bosom. It was a tiny outfit, the size of a newborn infant.

"If you ever find yourself expecting to use it, won't you please share with me?" Angela insisted lightly but with a determined glint in her eyes that Eragon had never before seen. "For a child born to an elf and a human would be precious indeed." Eragon couldn't ignore the sense that Angela was trying to hint at something very important—beyond her obvious reference to the idea that he and Arya might conceive a child—but he couldn't possibly guess what.

"Yes," Arya fervently promised. "We'll tell you at once, wise one, should we find ourselves so blessed."

The room had quieted at this unexpected exchange, and everyone was thoughtful about the implications of Angela's strange gift. But the moment quickly passed and conversation resumed as Arya laid the gift inside the pack Eragon held. Then she looked at him expectantly, awaiting his cue.

* * *

 **A/N:** I recently had a younger reader inform me that they found my portrayal of the love scenes quite intense, so I felt a need to provide a clearer warning. If you are under age eighteen and reading this, the next chapter contains an M-rated love scene. Fanfiction defines "M-rated" as follows: "Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16, with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language. Fiction M can contain adult language, themes and suggestions. Detailed descriptions of physical interaction of sexual or violent nature is considered Fiction MA." So my love scenes have NO detailed descriptions of sexual intercourse, but the buildup (foreplay) is nonetheless quite passionate. (FYI: there is no violence or coarse language.)

If you think you might feel uncomfortable reading something of that nature, just skip the next chapter (and keep this disclaimer in mind when you arrive at any of the chapters with a warning). If you move forward to Chapter 24 with the knowledge that Eragon and Arya have sex now that they're married, you will not be missing out on anything significant in the story. And also FYI, the scenes that I have linked to—meaning they are not found on fanfiction . net and you must completely leave the site and follow an external link to see them—are definitely MA, which stands for Mature Adult, and DO contain detailed descriptions of the actual moment of sexual intercourse. There you have it. Hopefully no one will now be surprised by what follows. :)


	23. Union

**A/N:** You will notice two symbols like this -:- in this chapter. They simply indicate the beginning and end of the section I removed that contained Mature Adult details (where the symbol appears twice in a row -:-:-, I am indicating a viewpoint shift from one character to the other). If you want to read that, I have posted it here: autumn6435 . livejournal . com. You will need to remove the spaces so you have a real URL. It's organized like a blog with entries under one another, and as this is the first of such scenes, it's the very first entry, entitled _Part 1, Chapter 23. Union (original sex scene)_ , so scroll down until you find that. There's no need to read that if such things don't interest you. The revised chapter flows without it.

* * *

 **23\. Union (revised)**

"Let's run somewhere," Eragon said, smiling at Arya. "Away from here." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and knew she understood him.

Arya nodded, returning his smile with one so radiant, Eragon felt sure the sun would seem dim in comparison once they got outside. He brushed her face with his fingers, trailing them over her lips in an effort to absorb her joy and intensify his own. Then he shouldered the pack, reached for her hand, and reluctantly took his eyes off of her face.

Turning to their guests, Eragon said over the conversation, "Thank you, everyone. Your support and love mean more to us than we can express. Thank you for this joyful celebration. Now if you'll excuse us, we're leaving for a time. Don't try to find us." He winked, which earned him several catcalls and knowing laughs. "We will return when we're ready."

Eragon turned back to Arya. _Ready?_

 _Yes!_ Arya nodded firmly, moving toward the exit.

As they reached the courtyard beyond the entrance to the hall, Eragon increased his pace. But Arya tugged on his hand to stop him. "Wait," she murmured, swiftly unlacing the bodice of her gown.

"I thought we would wait for that part until we're alone," Eragon said with a grin.

"I'll be clothed enough," Arya rejoined with an impatient flip of her head. "You're already faster than I. This will only slow me down, and I would hate to ruin it once we _are_ alone." Then she smiled, her expression full of anticipation.

"Good point," Eragon agreed, setting down the pack and shrugging out of his princely tunic.

Arya let the dress slip off her body, carefully laying it along a bench near the outside wall of the Great Hall. She then removed the delicate tiara resting on her brow and set it on top. She curled her toes against the cold stone of the courtyard, standing then in only her sleeveless undershirt and tight leggings, which revealed even more of her amazing body.

Eragon's eyes flashed hungrily as he swept them over his new bride. He hastily removed his silk shirt and tossed it on the pile with the rest, trusting that someone else would tend to their clothes, not caring if they didn't. Arya was already used to seeing him bare chested, as that was how he had spent the past several days. She had assured him she didn't mind—indeed, that she actually quite enjoyed it—so Eragon saw no reason to take a brand new shirt and dirty it in the wilderness. He glanced down at his handsome leather pants but saw no way he could remove them yet and so concluded they must accept whatever fate was theirs. Then he kicked off the heavy boots and removed his socks.

Arya commanded his attention with a small sound of exasperation, and Eragon wondered that he had ever let his concern over _clothes_ distract him from her, if only momentarily. "Can we go yet!" she demanded, bouncing impatiently on her toes. Once he was looking, Arya danced away with a playful, challenging look in her eyes.

Eragon caught on to her desire and lunged for her, but she laughed and, having anticipated his move, nimbly dodged him, dashing toward the opening in the courtyard in an effort to get a head start. Eragon grabbed the pack and started after her, letting her go at first.

Just at that moment, Saphira's mind touched his. _Congratulations, little one,_ she purred, her joy and love washing over him. Eragon smiled and looked up at her circling the courtyard with Fírnen by her side. He felt slightly guilty about how he had almost completely ignored Saphira since Arya had arrived.

Saphira dismissively and somewhat apologetically replied, _It is what I wanted for you more than anything else, and I have not done much better besides_. Saphira and Fírnen's joy at Eragon and Arya's union almost matched their own.

Eragon had learned that Fírnen had long known of Arya's true feelings for him, the ones she had continually denied and suppressed in her stubborn loyalty to her duties in Ellesméra. However, Fírnen had known she needed to admit them for herself and hadn't pressed her into seeing them any sooner than he did, and only then because of the threat to her health. Eragon would always be grateful to Fírnen for bringing Arya to him and keeping her safe while they were apart.

Sensing his thoughts, Fírnen replied, _You are most welcome, Eragon. Now you will have the mate of your heart as I have mine._ He snaked his head over to nip at Saphira, who playfully spun away. _Arya's happiness only completes my own. And I have you to thank for returning her to health and bringing joy to her face, something I had rarely seen in her before._

Eragon bowed his head in acknowledgment and thought, just as he heard Arya think the same thing, _We want to be_ alone _now!_

He burst out laughing and felt Arya do the same, far ahead of him. The dragons roared their approval and flew away in the opposite direction.

Eragon started to run, wanting nothing more than to catch his wife and reach a secluded place where they could be alone, the only two people who mattered in the world. He followed her smell as he sprinted after her, knowing he would reach her within minutes. He grinned as he spotted Arya disappearing through a clearing into the trees beyond and knew she could hear him gaining on her when she giggled and gave a desperate effort to outdistance him once more.

Eragon laughed as he closed the gap between them, feeling like a predator about to pounce on his prey. "I've almost got you," he growled, and Arya shrieked in anticipation of her capture. Without breaking stride, Eragon swept her into his arms, and she threw her own around his neck, laughing breathlessly as he nibbled her ears and neck.

"Farther?" Eragon asked.

"Yes! And let me down!"

Eragon slowed, gently setting Arya on her feet and keeping firm hold of her hand. "No more escaping," he ordered, pretending to be stern as he started to run again. But Arya pulled on his hand to stop him, as she had in the courtyard.

"Never mind," Arya amended, breathing quickly as she leaned against him, her chest rising and falling against his, which didn't escape Eragon's notice. "Eragon, I don't want to go any farther. I don't want to wait any longer. I want you! Now!"

Arya's intensity surprised him, but Eragon didn't have much time to consider it before she pressed her lips against his, using her hands to explore his body more insistently than ever before. She ran them along his chest and abdomen, up to his shoulders and down his arms, then back up to his neck, where she slipped the fingers of one hand into his hair while circling the other around his back. She pressed herself against him then jerked back, glaring down at her thin shirt, its insignificant width still separating them. She grabbed it around the hem with both hands, yanked it off over her head, and tossed it aside in one swift motion, barely allowing Eragon to appreciate that her naked torso was pressing against his before it already was.

"Mmmm," Arya breathed at the amazing, warm feeling of their bare chests coming together. "That feels marvelous." She grinned excitedly before kissing him again, now involving her tongue as much as her lips.

Until that moment, Eragon had felt almost overwhelmed by the onslaught, still disbelieving that her passion—her _need_ for him—could match his own for her. But as her kisses evolved and her naked skin slid against his, unbelievably soft and smooth, his hesitation fled and the full strength of his passion broke forth.

Eragon grasped her leggings on either side of her hips and ripped them off. He pulled Arya up so her legs were around his waist, holding her with one arm while he fumbled with his other hand to remove his own pants.

But Arya shook her head slightly, returning her feet to the ground so she could help with this part. She gazed at him with her lips pressed together in an eager smile while she unbuttoned his pants, pulling them—along with his undergarments—swiftly down. There she crouched as he stepped out, reaching up to run her hands along his legs and invite him down with her.

They knelt before each other, breathing quickly and staring into one another's eyes. Arya's burned with wild longing, her smile widening in anticipation as she grabbed his hands and began to lie back.

Eragon stopped her with an arm around her back, glancing at the ground in concern. "Will you be comfortable?"

"The grass is soft," Arya whispered, wrapping one arm around his neck and using the other to sweep her hair out from under her body, where it fell in a careless tangle above her head. Eragon also smiled, both at her eagerness and how amazingly sensual she was. Arya continued pulling him toward her until he was positioned above her, supporting his weight on his feet and hands. Eragon didn't allow himself to touch her, though he was fully aroused from their interaction.

Arya arched toward him, pulling on his shoulders and willing him to close the distance between them. Anxiously she cried, "Eragon, why do you stop? Please! Don't hold back!"

Eragon squeezed his eyes shut, breathing with forced control and managing in a strained voice, "I don't want . . . to hurt you. . . . Help me."

-:- Arya smiled, her eyes somehow communicating her appreciation of his respect for her. And she helped him.

After a time, when Eragon could think clearly again and had quieted his breathing, he slowly opened his eyes to find Arya studying his face, her fingers slowly moving along his back. He shook his head in an attempt to communicate that he was speechless, and then he recognized the fire burning in her eyes as what he had experienced moments before, when he felt he must either explode or find relief at once.

Whatever had just happened for him, leaving him feeling simultaneously empty and full of perfect joy, had clearly not happened for Arya. Willing to do anything for her so she could feel the same satisfaction, Eragon immediately whispered, "What can I do?"

"Turn over," Arya commanded, so he did. Her hair followed last, sweeping to the side to create a dark curtain next to her face with the ends still resting on the grass. She straightened her arms to push herself up, and her hair pulled onto his shoulder and chest. Eragon remembered the feeling from the first night she had slept in his arms, and he smiled again at the soft, ticklish sensation.

Her beauty—no, perfection—was devastating. Eragon remembered the only other time he had seen the skin of her back and shoulders—covered in angry red welts of abuse at the hands of cruel captors. Now her skin was smooth, rich in color like light honey, and unblemished. He wanted to touch her, as much of her as he could.

Eragon looked toward her face, seeking permission, just as Arya whispered, "Touch me," in a much less demanding, more vulnerable tone.

His eyes reached hers, and Eragon saw that the fire was there but also that she wanted his help to stoke it and bring about her release. He did as she asked, touching her in an adoring manner. She made additional requests, which he gladly obeyed, and he was successful in accomplishing his desire of helping Arya achieve the same satisfaction he had.

-:-:-

As the last sensations of pleasure faded from her being, Arya curled against Eragon, breathing heavily, unsure if she fully grasped what had just happened to her, but now understanding the speechless awe that had covered Eragon's face and filled his eyes. "Thank you," she breathed, seized by an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and relief. She loosened her grip when she realized that she was tightly clenching Eragon's arms, leaving behind white impressions of her fingers.

"Arya," Eragon whispered. "I've wanted you and to do that with you for so long. That we just did and you welcomed it as you did is the most exquisite gift you could ever give me. Thank _you_ , my beautiful wife." She smiled against him as they sat with their arms wrapped around each other. Eventually Eragon lay back on the ground, cushioning her body and covering her with his arms to keep her warm as the heat of their passion and exertion cooled. Neither felt a need to break the silence, swallowed as they were in recalling the experience they had just shared.

As Arya relaxed against Eragon's chest, she marveled at the power of the forces designed to create new life, understanding why they were so sacred and needed to be guarded. -:- She would never be the same after the intense emotions that had just been aroused in her, culminating in the most amazing sensation she had ever experienced. Already she wanted to surrender to the love and longing once more, and she now realized why it was so important for her and Eragon to first join in marriage. Without that foundation of commitment and selflessness, Arya could easily comprehend how this force might become addictive and destructive.

Arya lifted her head to gaze at her husband, favoring him with a wondering smile and gentle kiss, which he returned in like manner. She was fully Eragon's, and he hers. Nothing would ever break their union.

-:-:-:-


	24. Confusion

**24\. Confusion**

Back in the city, the other Riders cleaned up after the feast and celebration, then they relaxed in the comfortable chairs scattered throughout one corner of the Great Hall. Rather than joining his older comrades, Tomath wearily excused himself and retired to bed.

Since it was midsummer, they didn't start a fire as they sometimes did in the cooler winter months, but Murtagh still gazed into the empty fireplace and finally broke the silence. "Does anyone dare ask their dragon to contact Saphira or Fírnen and see how Eragon and Arya are doing?" he asked with a wry grin.

Willow's laugh was most discernible out of the deep male chuckles all around her, for only the Riders were present. The elves had taken to their favorite haunts after the work was finished, and Angela and Solembum were nowhere to be seen.

"Shame on you for even suggesting it, Murtagh!" Willow exclaimed. "We all know perfectly well that they're doing marvelously!"

"True," Murtagh agreed. "Is anyone else feeling somewhat jealous? We're all of the age that doing what Eragon and Arya are no doubt doing seems the most natural and desirable thing in the world. What say you all to a little wager? How long do you think Eragon and Arya will stay away on their honeymoon before returning to the city? My bet is ten days, one for each year they were apart. Anyone else want to play?"

"What's the reward if we win?" Grintuk inquired.

"Satisfaction, dear brother," Murtagh ironically replied. "And perhaps luck. Maybe the closest guess will ensure the winner the privilege of next enjoying the pleasures of marriage."

Willow asked, "Do you really think ten days, Murtagh? Is that how long you would spend if you could marry Nasuada?"

"If I could marry Nasuada, my preference would be to never return to civilization. Hardly likely since she's the high queen and all, but that's my secret wish. What would you guess, Willow?"

Willow made the mistake of looking at Varhog, which was what she usually did when seeking advice. Varhog quickly averted his gaze. "Um," she said, "I think you're a little ambitious, but perhaps you understand Eragon better than I do. I'm going to say a week. Seven days."

Knilf guessed three days, and Bodin went with four. The Urgals had a different notion of the appropriate length for a honeymoon. Grintuk surprised them by seriously saying, "A month. That's how long they'll be gone."

Varhog chortled. "Do I sense some underlying wishful thinking here, Grintuk? Or are things just different in the Delvhtuk clan?"

"Don't pretend to be so gallant, _brother,_ " Grintuk good-naturedly returned. "I know how long you'd be gone if _you_ could marry the one you love. Surely you remember the lessons mated rams give the younger generation."

Willow glanced at Grintuk after his insinuation that Varhog currently loved someone, but she apparently thought better than to look over at Varhog again.

"Do they now?" Varhog said in surprise, studiously avoiding eye contact with Willow. "No, I can't say I have ever had the pleasure of hearing anything like that. However, I was always regrettably solitary. After my obligatory participation in training and fighting, I always retreated into the forest. But I can imagine thinking a month might seem too short. I'm going with two weeks. What about you, Hanin?"

The elf chuckled. "I never would have been comfortable discussing this topic six years ago," Hanin admitted, "but now it seems as natural as flying on Vera. I don't know. What numbers haven't been taken? I'm going to trust those with years of pent-up longing and go with eleven days. How's that?"

"Fine," Murtagh declared with a laugh. "Everyone remember their number. At the very least, we can say the winner gets out of dish duty the night the two lovebirds return. So I'm curious, Hanin. The elves know more about the Riders of old than any other race. Did _they_ have romantic relationships?"

"I wasn't personally alive during the time, as were some of my fellows," Hanin answered, "but I think it is safe to assume that some, if not all of the Riders, did enjoy romantic relationships. This much at least we can assume from the memories of the Eldunarí who were bonded to Riders. Whether they first married or simply joined in moments of passion is debatable. I admire Eragon for his choice to marry first, which is strange for an elf to admit, but to me it shows that his self-control and loyalty will never waver in his most important relationship."

"Eragon has been a worthy example in this as in all things," Knilf acquiesced. "However, I can't help but agree with Murtagh. We Riders find ourselves in a fine dilemma. Now that two Riders are married, it will be hard not to think about the joys and privileges that go along with that union. There are too many males here, and our ranks increase by only one a year. Mine sweet back in Tronjheim, Greta, was proud when I was chosen as the first dwarf Dragon Rider, but it was bittersweet for us both, for we know not how to proceed in our relationship when I will be immortal and she will not."

"How is Greta, Knilf?" Willow kindly asked. "You just returned home. Right in time for Eragon's special occasion."

"Yes, not a moment too soon, eh? She is wonderful, my dear, wonderful," Knilf replied. "Though she is none too happy that my visits must be so infrequent. The first four years were terribly hard. I fear she may give up on me yet if things continue as they are. She is the fairest dwarf lass I ever have seen, and I'm sure she has caught the eye of other knurlan back home."

"Don't lose hope, Knilf," Willow encouraged. "There must be some solution to this problem. For Murtagh's sake and yours, I fervently hope there is."

"As do I, my dear," Knilf said.

"This has also bothered me," Grintuk quietly admitted, though his immensely deep voice easily carried to the others. "We see in the union of Firesword and Arya that an interracial marriage can be successful, but an elf and a human joining is not entirely unheard of. We Urgralgra, however, would be hard-pressed to find anyone of a different race willing to join with us, as feared and hated as we have always been."

Varhog solemnly regarded Grintuk, keeping his eyes carefully away from Willow.

Bodin nodded gravely. "I have also thought on this at length. I had no sweetheart back home before becoming a Dragon Rider, but how could I, in good conscience, take a wife who would one day inevitably pass on while I remained behind. At least Hanin could find a match among the elves who would share his immortality."

" _You_ could take an elf, brother," Hanin joked.

"Oh, that's rich, Hanin," Bodin retorted. "I can't think of any elf maid who would consider joining herself with a short, stocky, slow, bearded dwarf. Nay, it would never be."

"I'm sure stranger things have happened," Hanin mildly replied, glancing pointedly at Varhog, which the Urgal obviously noticed, though Willow missed it. Her eyes were trained on her clasped hands resting in her lap.

Willow abruptly stood. "I'm going to bed," she announced. "Thank you all so much for your help pulling this off for Eragon and Arya. It was magnificent. No more chores for a week!" She smiled teasingly, but it wasn't as exuberant as usual.

Varhog stood to accompany her, as he always did. "I'll be fine, Yelloweyes," Willow told him. "You needn't trouble yourself."

"It's no trouble," Varhog assured, surprised that she seemed reluctant to have his company. He had never asked permission to walk Willow back to her room, but he did then to make sure he wouldn't bother her. " _May_ I come with you? I'd like to, if you don't mind."

"Of course, my friend," Willow said. "With you as an escort, I may even brave taking the compost to the chickens. Not even the wild dragons would dare molest me with an Urgal ram as my personal guard."

Varhog smiled faintly but could see that Willow was trying too hard to downplay her first dismissal.

Before Willow and Varhog left, Murtagh said, "Thank you, Willow, for planning the wedding. I know it meant the world to Eragon. It really was magnificent, even as you said. I don't know what we would do without you here."

"Hear, hear," Knilf agreed. "Murtagh and Varhog were the only two here who had the pleasure of witnessing the _wonderful_ dynamic on the Isle before your blessed arrival. Why, if not for you, I'm sure this great horn-headed brute would have gored me through the middle before the end of the year, if I hadn't planted my axe in his back."

"What an awful thought," Willow murmured. "I'm glad I could help. You're all the best males of each race I've ever had the honor of knowing, though I'm sure that doesn't count for much, since I didn't know many males before coming here. I consider you each closer than any brother I might have had by birth. But that said, I'm _so_ grateful Arya is now here. We really do need more females. Who knows, Hanin? Maybe you'll get lucky at this next Elf Choosing Ceremony and the dragon will hatch for a female."

Hanin smiled as he gracefully arose to give her an embrace. "Perhaps," he allowed. "If the dragon did hatch for a female and she was anything like you, it would only mean good things for the Riders. Good night, Willow." He glanced apologetically at Varhog over her head as he stepped away.

Varhog was sure he looked as envious as he always did whenever Willow wasn't looking and any of the others gave her a hug. Though easily her closest friend, Varhog had never had the same opportunity of embracing her, perhaps for the very reason that he _was_ slightly different to her than the others. She didn't view him quite as the brother she did all the rest.

"Good night, Hanin," Willow replied.

The dwarves also jumped up, and she bent over to hug them, murmuring more good nights. Murtagh stood and, for Varhog's sake, simply put one arm around Willow's shoulders. Grintuk, however, had no qualms about crushing Willow against him in a tight embrace, defiantly regarding Varhog. He was the closest match to Varhog's strength, though he was a foot taller as a Kull, and he didn't fear Varhog's wrath.

Varhog furrowed his brow and returned the stare with a disapproving, slightly menacing look.

"Grintuk!" Willow gasped into his ribs where her face reached against his eight-foot frame. "I can't breathe."

"Sorry, Willow," Grintuk said, releasing her with an apologetic grin. "Good night, sister."

"Good night, you clowns," Willow said, smiling affectionately. "Until tomorrow morning." She turned, linked her arm through Varhog's, and rested her cheek against his arm, which provided him a small measure of consolation. They walked to the kitchen, and Varhog grabbed the bin full of compost scraps before they left to visit the chickens.

-:-:-

The others were silent until Varhog and Willow disappeared.

Then Knilf said, "Do you think he'll ever pluck up the nerve to tell her how he feels?"

"It might be difficult for you to grasp, brother," Grintuk said, "but the notion probably seems more than impossible to him. I know it does to me. If not for Varhog, I would probably feel much the same about Willow. It's hard to see someone with Willow's strength and fighting abilities and not admire them, at least for our race. But to entertain the notion that a human would ever want an Urgal? No, that's just too much. Not to mention that the Urgralgra would never approve of such a thing, for the feelings are mutual and most of our race look upon humans with equal degrees of revulsion and hatred. All this talk of mates and marriage is extremely hard for Varhog."

"Willow has been taking it more to heart recently as well, don't you think?" Murtagh observed. "She has been more somber, like she was tonight. Varhog has always been her closest friend. It's hard for me to imagine that one wouldn't begin to think of their best friend in that way, but she seems to be hung up on the same obstacle."

The others nodded or otherwise expressed their agreement, and soon after, they all went their separate ways.

-:-:-

After scattering the plant peelings and remnants for the chickens, Willow and Varhog reentered the Great Hall. Varhog set the compost bin down in the kitchen, then they washed their hands and headed for Willow's quarters. Their walk thus far had been mostly silent.

But as they neared her room, Willow asked, "Why haven't you ever given me a hug, Yelloweyes?"

"Why haven't you ever called me brother?" Varhog rejoined.

"Perhaps I don't see you quite like the others," Willow answered. "I've never really thought of you as my brother like I do them. You have always been my friend. My best friend. But can friends not embrace?"

"I wouldn't object," Varhog casually said, attempting to hide his desperate hope. "I would hug you if you wanted me to."

Willow looked up at him and smiled teasingly. "Perhaps I do," she murmured. They reached her door and without further ado, she stepped in front of him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Her head came up to the level of his heart, and she pressed her ear there. "I can hear your heart," she said.

As he tentatively put his arms around Willow's shoulders, feeling far more awkward than any of his brothers ever looked when they embraced her, Varhog wondered if Willow could sense that his heart was pounding harder than usual. He loved wrapping his arms around her just as much as he always imagined he would, and he also bowed his head, resting his face on the top of her head. Her hair was warm and smelled sweet. Maybe giving Willow a hug wasn't the best idea, for it intensified Varhog's longing for her in such an unbearable way.

"This is nice," Willow then observed in a voice slightly muffled by his pectoral muscle.

"Aye," Varhog softly agreed.

Willow pulled away too soon, Varhog thought, and reached for her door handle. Keeping her eyes down, she whispered, "Good night, Varhog." Then she opened her door, entered her room, and closed it behind her.

"Good night," he said to the door. Varhog turned and walked to his own quarters at the end of the expansive corridor. The door to each chamber actually consisted of two doors. One was immense and swung outward into the enormous hallway to allow a dragon to pass through unhindered. The second was built within the first, swung inward toward the room, and was of a more standard size. The Riders used these smaller doors when entering alone.

Varhog's agitation grew by the second, and he smashed his door open with a clenched fist, paying no mind to the jolt of pain that shot through his hand and forearm. Once in his room, Varhog yanked off his shirt, kicked off his boots, and flung himself down on his bed, which groaned in protest under his immense bulk. Turning on his side, he grabbed the pillow under his head and hugged it to his chest, pretending it was Willow.

Black Thunder was already there, curled up in his depression on the floor. Though the dragons could enter the living quarters through the huge doors meant for them, most chose to enter their Riders' rooms by flying to the ceiling of the Great Hall. The ceilings opened to the chambers on the other side, but the walls were high and thick enough that no sounds carried across the barrier.

 _My son?_ Black Thunder wondered.

Varhog's dragon had hatched within a few years of his sire's death and had somehow filled the void in Varhog's life after losing his father. So from early on, around the time the dragon had surpassed Varhog in size, Varhog had taken to referring to him as 'my father,' and the dragon had returned the sentiment by calling Varhog 'my son.'

 _It's Willow_ , Varhog curtly thought, knowing that would perfectly sum up his frustration.

 _It goes worse, then?_ the dragon asked _._

 _No! It goes nowhere! I can't seem to find the courage to confess my feelings, no matter what she has hinted at these past few days. She would_ never _want to be my mate. But I want her so desperately, my father. I love her more than anything. Why must I be an Urgal?_

 _Give her a chance, my son,_ his dragon advised. _She has always accepted you as an Urgal, right from the very beginning. She has never feared or hated you because of your yellow eyes or curling horns. You know she cares about you as a friend. Could not that naturally extend into what you now feel, even as your feelings of friendship deepened into love and affection?_

 _Who would believe it possible for a human woman, and one as beautiful as Willow, to want an Urgralgra ram for her mate?_ Varhog bitterly ranted. _She might always accept me as her friend, but to hope she would ever want more seems the height of presumption and folly. Her kind view me as an abomination, a monster, a hideous beast. And what's worse, my kind would view her in the same way. I couldn't bear it, my father._

 _How does_ she _see you, my son? Not in this way. You know that._

 _No, Willow doesn't see me as a monster, but nor can I ever imagine her wanting me_ _as her mate. How could she ever be attracted to me in the way a mated couple is?_

 _You are now attracted to_ her _in that way,_ Black Thunder reminded him, _though it was not that way at first. You also had to overcome your biases against humans, and you have, and now you long for Willow as much as any Urgralgra ram ever longed for a female. If that happened, as inconceivable as it would seem to any of the rest of your race, then the opposite is also possible. Especially if the human in question is Willow. She is different and uncommon. Special. You are an amazing ram, my son. She sees that and values all of your strengths and achievements. She prizes her friendship with you. Do I not speak truth?_

 _You do,_ Varhog allowed. _Willow is the most amazing person I have ever known, but that makes me even more despairing. She could have anyone she wanted. Anyone, my father. Elf, dwarf, human, or even Urgal, as I so pathetically demonstrate. All of the other Riders admire her and would no doubt be fighting over her right now if not for my obvious regard and possessiveness. But how selfish am I to hoard her like I do when I don't even have the courage to confess my feelings and ask her to be my mate?_

Varhog shook his head in frustrated denial. _Ask her to be my mate,_ he mockingly repeated. _I can't even imagine it! It's impossible for me to picture her accepting me, no matter how kind or friendly she is._

 _Do not give up hope, Varhog,_ Black Thunder counseled. _Encourage the right moment and seize it. She may surprise you. If she does not, at least you can safely rely on the fact that she will always be your friend. You will be no worse off than you now are if she rejects you. Perhaps you would even be better off. At least she would know the true depth of your feelings and you would no longer feel the crushing weight of indecision and hopelessness._

 _You're right, my father. I will look for the right time when I can speak with Willow. I don't know how she isn't as painfully aware as all the others of how I truly feel. In my mind, every word I say and every expression of my face conveys the full depth of my love and admiration. It's harder every day to hide it, especially now that Firesword is married and there has been all this talk of mates._

 _Things will work out, my son. Trust in that._

 _I will,_ Varhog promised.

-:-:-

Down the hall, Willow was having a similar conversation with her dragon. She hadn't even bothered undressing, but instead curled on her bed facing Sunset with a pillow clutched tightly to her chest. She hadn't expected her arms to feel so empty after stepping away from Varhog.

 _I'm so confused, Sunset,_ Willow lamented. _My friendship with Varhog has always been the easiest matter in the world. When I realized the other day that he's everything I have ever wanted in a husband, it shocked me. But he seems to think that his being an Urgal and I a human is an insurmountable obstacle. At the same time, I could swear he feels more for me than friendship by the way he looks at me and the things he says._

 _Can you see him as your husband, sunshine?_ Sunset asked. They had always thought Sunset's pet name for Willow was a fitting play on the dragon's name because of how warm and bright her Rider was.

 _I don't know!_ Willow wailed. _He's as familiar to me as you, Sunset, though we are so vastly different. Everything about Varhog that makes him different from me is just a part of who he is. It has never bothered me that he's an Urgal. His horns have never been frightening. His skin and eye color have never been repulsive. It was all foreign at first, but now they seem the most natural things in the world. He wouldn't be Varhog without them._

 _But can you see him as your_ husband? her dragon gently pressed.

 _I think so,_ Willow honestly replied. _His body is more like a man's than his head, and it's magnificent and powerful. I think all females appreciate those things. I do. It felt sublime to hug him tonight. It was so different from when I embrace any of the others, even Grintuk. Varhog is far taller than I but not_ that _much taller. I feel like we could still be a good match though I'm comparatively so much smaller than he. Save Grintuk, Varhog is more different from me than any of the other Riders, but I do believe I can see him in that way—as a husband—more easily than any of the others._

Willow went on, _Murtagh is clearly out of the question. He feels as much like a real brother to me as Eragon does, and he loves Nasuada so desperately. Thinking of the dwarves or Tomath in that way only makes me laugh. They're wonderful and so merry, but I can't imagine being with someone so much shorter than myself. And Tomath sees me more as a mother than anything. Hanin is devilishly handsome, but he's almost sixty years older than I! Of course, Eragon and Arya seemed to overcome that in the end, but I still can't see Hanin as a husband as much as I can picture Varhog, strange as that sounds._

 _But I don't know how to act now. What if Varhog doesn't feel the way I sometimes suspect he feels? I would expect him to take the lead in this matter, but I don't want to make him uncomfortable or pressure him. I'm still not exactly sure what my feelings are, if anything. Maybe all this uproar surrounding Eragon's wedding is muddling my thoughts and emotions. But I don't want to lose Varhog as my best friend. I couldn't bear that._

 _He would not want that either, sunshine,_ Sunset reminded her. _Be yourself, Willow. Be his friend. Be honest. I am sure the time will come when he finds the courage to confess his feelings, if they are stronger than the regard of friendship. He would be lucky to have you, sunshine. You are an extraordinary person. I did not choose you for nothing._

 _Thank you, Sunset,_ Willow said. She slid off her bed, leaving the pillow behind, and went over to wrap her arms around Sunset's warm snout. _I always feel better when I speak with you. Let's go flying tomorrow._

 _Nothing would make me happier, sunshine. Will you ask Varhog to come along? You always would have before your emotions were as confused as they now are. He was surprised and slightly hurt tonight that you nearly denied him the pleasure of accompanying you back to your room. He never would have pressed it, gentleman that he is, but take care that you do not become aloof._

 _I'll be careful,_ Willow promised. _Being a friend to everyone is the main thing I have going for me. I can't let myself get bitter and withdrawn in my confusion. Tomorrow I want to be alone with you, but maybe we can plan a trip to the lake now that Eragon isn't there and I'll invite Varhog to come. Wait,_ is _Eragon there? Can you check with Saphira and make sure I wouldn't inadvertently drop in on them. I would feel really awkward, especially if Varhog was with me._

 _I checked, sunshine,_ her dragon said after a moment. _Eragon and Arya are not at the lake. Would you like to stay with me tonight?_

 _I would,_ Willow verified. _Maybe I should at least get ready for bed._ She quickly dressed down to her undershirt and undergarments, brushed her teeth and hair, and washed her face.

 _Ready!_ she announced as she returned to Sunset. Her dragon lifted her wing, and Willow snuggled against Sunset's warm underbelly, resting her head on a soft fold of skin in her hip joint. Sunset folded her velvety wing around Willow, and the dragon and her Rider drifted off to sleep.

-:-:-:-

* * *

 **A/N:** There is a mature love scene in the following chapter. Skip, if so desired.


	25. Honeymoon

**25\. Honeymoon**

Meanwhile, the two who had caused all the drama back in the city were still secluded in the forest not ten minutes away. Eragon and Arya's first passionate encounter was like the first course of a magnificent meal, only enough to whet their appetite and make them eager for more. Eragon didn't keep track of time, but by the movement of the sun, they must have spent hours in one another's arms, increasingly less hesitant as they became more familiar with one another's bodies and desires. At times they were playful and teasing, other times found them passionate and desperate, and during yet others, their expression was gentle and tender. Their hunger and thirst were only for each other, and as the sky darkened, their appetite seemed only slightly more satisfied than when they first began.

Finally, after a powerful release had simultaneously swallowed them, Eragon rolled to his back off of Arya, and they lay panting side by side on the ground. He grinned as he remembered his oft-replayed fantasy of something like this happening, reminiscent of their exhausting swordplay under the instruction of Glaedr's Eldunarí.

Eragon turned to his side, supporting himself on his elbow as he faced Arya and idly trailing one finger down her body. "I must drink," he insisted. "Or I shall perish."

Arya also twisted to face him, scooting over to slide her leg over his thigh and pressing her whole perfect body into his, without any concern that their bodies touched or that her nakedness would test his self-control. She grinned wickedly. "I'll never let you forget that you were the first to beg for rest," she threatened, nuzzling his neck with her lips.

"You seem intent on killing your new husband your first night with him," Eragon defended, closing his eyes in enjoyment at the tickling sensation. "You're insatiable!" But he was obviously pleased, for here was an area where his stamina seemed no match for hers. She demanded more again and again.

"What did you expect?" Arya quipped. "Over a hundred years of never allowing myself to love or be loved? Repressed passion like that is bound to be deadly."

"Please," Eragon groaned. "I surrender. Only let me get something to drink."

Arya reluctantly peeled herself away from him and lay on her back with her knees up and her arms under her head, gazing through the trees at the stars. Night had fallen hours before.

Eragon crawled toward where he had dropped the pack Murtagh had given them, opened it, and began searching for something to wet his parched mouth and quench his burning thirst. He found two large water skins and opened one, completely draining it and exhaling in relief before returning to offer Arya the other.

When she didn't immediately take it, he dryly asked, "Or are you not thirsty, then? Ready for more already?"

"Don't tempt me," Arya mischievously warned, sitting to accept the water skin and drinking deeply, though not as much as Eragon. "I'll save the rest for you," she teased. "For when next you break down with exhaustion."

Eragon tossed the water skin aside and playfully grabbed her, twisting her body around so she sat on his lap and tickling her sides. Arya squirmed as she attempted to escape his iron grip, but to no avail. She giggled as he relentlessly continued.

"It may serve you to remember that I am now stronger," Eragon said, laughing with her.

"Please, Eragon," Arya gasped, still struggling futilely to end the attack. "Have mercy!"

Eragon stopped then, and Arya sank into his embrace, attempting to recover. He pulled her hair around to drape across her front and began absently playing with it, unconcerned when his fingers accidentally—or intentionally—brushed elsewhere.

"You looked glorious today," Eragon stated as he removed some of the emerald-colored vines that hadn't fallen out. "But I was right. Your true perfection is apparent only without the cover of clothing."

"Mmmm," Arya murmured, "I could say the same of you, darling." After a moment of silence, she added, "And what do you think then, of being husband and wife, of our intimate union?"

Eragon shrugged. "What kind of a question is that, Arya? Words cannot adequately describe what I think. Have you not felt and ascertained with every one of your senses my complete and utter adoration of you, how I worship you with every fiber of my being? Being your husband, our intimate union, is the most incredible thing I have ever experienced. Nothing could have prepared me for how powerful it is, for how _close_ it makes me feel to you."

"Those words seem adequate," Arya teased but said no more.

Eragon shifted at her silence. "And what do _you_ think?" he asked with an attempt at nonchalance, unable to hide his worry.

-:-:-

Arya heard the concern in his voice and knew Eragon worried that she might not feel the same. She turned around, sitting provocatively astride him and placing her lips a hair's width from his. In a low voice she purred, "Do you even _have_ to ask? How about I _show_ you what I think?"

And without waiting for a reply, Arya _did_ show him, in her most feverish advance yet, fully opening her mind to Eragon for the first time as his wife and holding nothing back so he would mentally _feel_ what she felt, what it was like for her to be with him in this way. She effortlessly joined their bodies, drowning him in her physical and mental onslaught until he was gasping for breath, his fingers digging into the ground by his sides so he wouldn't hurt her.

Arya gave him no time to process what had just happened. Gazing down at him with fiery intensity, she emphatically said, "And in case _that_ wasn't enough, being with you, being your wife, is amazing! I've never felt so alive or comfortable, so vulnerable and loved. Never so empowered, even as I surrender. The way you reverence me makes me feel like a goddess, and I don't think I'll _ever_ be able to get enough of you. Ever. I love you, Eragon," her voice rose as tears sprang to her eyes, "so desperately, and I'm so grateful you didn't give up on me. That you waited for me to come around. That you're so tender and gentle, even while you are strong and unyielding. My blood burns with longing for your body and begs my limbs never to let you free. My lips ache to kiss you, to taste you. My yearning for you truly is insatiable, as you said."

-:-:-

Eragon regarded Arya with increasing levels of awe the longer she continued her impassioned tirade, still stunned by what she had shared with him in her mind.

"Shall I continue? For I could," Arya vehemently assured, the indignant tears spilling onto her cheeks. Eragon meekly shook his head.

"Do not ever doubt that I love being with you again, Eragon," she finished with quiet warning, her body trembling from her outburst. "I am yours completely, body and soul."

Eragon carefully sat up, giving Arya time to pull her legs under her and tenderly taking her face in his hands. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs and pressed his forehead to hers. "Forgive me for doubting, Arya. I'll never do it again," he fervently promised.

Arya sagged against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably for a time as the powerful emotions of that very long day culminated in this last exhausted release. Eragon held her gingerly, not quite knowing how to calm her or if he should even try.

He decided it wasn't needful to try, sensing that she couldn't do much about the unexpected outburst but let it follow its course. So he simply stroked her hair and the skin of her back while she vented her feelings.

At length her crying ceased, and Arya sat up, glancing at Eragon apologetically as she wiped the tears from her face.

"I'm sorry, Eragon. I have no idea where that came from, but I promise I'm not unhappy. So many emotions, powerful emotions, have been building within me all day. That speech was more than I could bear. They needed to come out. I feel perfectly calm now."

Eragon believed her, so he felt safe to tease her. "I suppose it _was_ only fair for you to cover me in warm liquid after all I've done to you today."

Arya smiled sheepishly, blushing slightly and looking down as she once again felt the evidence of their intimacy. Eragon couldn't help but add, "After all _you_ have done today and all _I've_ done, _that_ was the first time you blushed. It was worth the wait."

Arya blushed even deeper, and Eragon grinned at her, gratified. "You have no idea how wonderful it feels to be myself with you, Arya, to be with you like this and not feel restriction or shame."

"Yes I do," Arya tenderly replied. "It seems so natural, so easy, as if this is how we were supposed to be with one another all along." He nodded. "I never want it to end," she admitted.

"Nor I," Eragon agreed. "Although I suppose at some point, when our passion cools . . ." He trailed off as Arya defiantly raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

"In several years?" Eragon hopefully amended, but she shook her head.

"In several decades?" Eragon then tried, and Arya finally nodded assent, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Very well, my love. When our passion cools _several decades_ from now, I suppose we must then make our way back to the city and see what has become of the Riders in our absence."

A delighted laugh escaped Arya's mouth as Eragon joked with her, and she gave him a hug. Her laugh was so contagious that Eragon couldn't help but join her, and he was also amused by her insistent defiance.

He pulled her hair to the side while she had her arms around him so he could study her back. He slid one finger down her spine before spreading the fingers of both hands and trailing his fingertips back up to her shoulders, admiring how strong and feminine she was. He traced the symbol of the yawё tattooed on her left shoulder, and Arya shivered at his touch.

Recognizing that reaction and sensing where his innocent touch would lead them, Eragon quickly attempted to distract her. "That was, ah . . . unexpected . . . what you did with your mind a moment ago," he offhandedly commented, intentionally downplaying it.

"Yes, I suppose it was perhaps unfair of me not to first warn you," Arya agreed. "But I couldn't have you ever again wondering or doubting my sincerity. I've seen your skepticism that I truly do feel the attraction I profess and hoped that would be sufficient to put your mind at ease."

"Aye," Eragon laughed, finding the understatement humorous. "It was most assuredly sufficient. I thought your _physical_ passion was strong. . . . I never would have guessed . . . was totally unprepared for the intensity . . ." He trailed off, unable to articulate his thoughts.

"I hope you didn't mind _,_ " Arya worried.

"No," Eragon reassured. "I don't think any man would _ever_ mind an advance like that from his wife." He paused, adding in a whisper, "That was just the closest I've ever come to _hurting_ you, Arya. I was so overcome, so entirely _swallowed_ by your mind and body that I couldn't even think, could barely control myself. It's lucky I got my hands away when I did. I fear I might have crushed your ribs . . ." He once again trailed off, sickened by the thought and ashamed of his confession.

"But you didn't, darling," Arya soothed. "Even when your mind was so otherwise occupied, your desire to protect me was automatic and unconscious. I know you'll never hurt me, Eragon. Truly, after that—when you might have accidentally—I don't think you are capable."

"Thank you for your trust," Eragon murmured against her hair, comforted by her words. He ran his fingers along her ribcage as if grateful it was still intact after his confession. Arya shivered again and sought his lips with her own.

But Eragon kept them against her hair and wearily said, "We should rest, Arya. I'm not sure I can carry on without some repose. Was that not enough for now a moment ago?" His head was still swimming from the recollection of the overpowering experience.

"A noble attempt, my husband, but after a touch like that, I cannot help but want more." Then longingly, but with understanding if he truly couldn't, Arya asked, "Please, Eragon? Once more before we rest?"

How could he resist? The deep longing in her lovely emerald eyes ignited his own, and Eragon wasn't sure he would ever get used to seeing her _want_ him so much. Nothing had ever made him feel more like a man than the way she looked at him like that, insisting _he_ was the only one who could ever hope to satisfy her.

As Arya had done earlier, Eragon answered her with actions, softly kissing her while moving his hands along her back and shoulders. "Are you not sore?" he checked, thinking of how passionately he had explored and tasted her that day.

"Mm-mmm," Arya breathlessly denied as he began her favorite form of pleasuring.

Eragon had become familiar with the sounds of her passion that day, as many times as he had experienced them. And though Arya had confessed that she felt somewhat improper and self-conscious, he had assured her he didn't mind. Indeed, her evident satisfaction—made clear by her instinctive vocalization—was extremely arousing.

As he tenderly touched her with his hands and lips and tongue, Arya sighed blissfully, and Eragon welcomed the effect it had on his body. It helped him overcome the feeling of exhaustion that had threatened, for it sounded like humming to him and he was pleased he could please her.

Eragon opened his mind to Arya as he let himself be swept away, loving her so much it almost hurt and wanting her to understand what this was like for him. Her eyes widened in wonder at his mental perspective.

As she had before, once her breathing had slowed, Arya whispered, "Thank you, Eragon. _That_ was incredible." She gazed into his eyes to communicate her pleasure and satisfaction, which she perceived as gifts from him.

And just as nearly every time before, speech failed him, and Eragon stared back at her, completely awestruck and incapable of finding words to express his feelings.


	26. Blessing

**26\. Blessing**

In the cool morning hours, Arya began to shiver. Eragon's arms were no longer sufficient to keep her naked body warm, so he left her side for the briefest moment to retrieve the blanket from the pack, feeling grateful again that Murtagh had given it to them.

He shook out the blanket, spreading it over them as he lay behind Arya and curled up around her. She murmured appreciatively and snuggled into his warmth, relaxing more fully against him.

They slept long and peacefully. Neither had ever been as perfectly tranquil and content, and the trees shaded them from the brightest of the midday sunlight. They awakened at the same moment, which was unsurprising, for Eragon's stomach rumbled loudly and painfully.

Arya laughed sleepily, turning in his arms and gently kissing him. "An insistent alarm, my darling. You're a constant slave to your stomach."

"I have never before worked as hard as I did yesterday in my struggle to satisfy the incessant demands of my wife," Eragon returned. "It was the most perfectly draining exercise I have ever performed—physically, emotionally, and mentally."

Arya laughed again and cuddled more deeply into his arms. "I wish you wouldn't get up, but I know it's inevitable," she mourned.

Eragon returned her kiss and whispered, "But I'll be right back." He slid out from under the blanket and arose carefully so he wouldn't expose Arya's body. "You probably won't need that blanket to stay warm for much longer."

Arya shook her head and grinned. "I can think of an excellent way to ensure that I will warm right up."

Eragon laughed and stretched mightily, groaning at the stiffness in his muscles, which had never been exercised in quite the same way as they had the day before.

Arya stared up at him with a gloating, indulgent look in her eyes. "You're a fine-looking specimen, Eragon," she said. "I could run my hands over your body all day and never tire of it."

He grinned roguishly. "That you could. I may have doubted it before but after yesterday . . . ? Well, I believe you. What do you think of this handsome tan line?"

"I didn't even notice it until just now," Arya said with a laugh, keeping the blanket around her as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. "You'll have to keep your pants off long enough to allow your lower half to catch up."

Eragon chuckled and walked to the pack, grabbing it so he could bring all of the contents back to Arya. "You're studying me quite intently," he commented, feeling how she observed his every action. "Do I look different in daylight?"

Arya shook her head. "Still just as beautiful," she replied. "Your posture is so perfect, and I love the way your muscles move so gracefully. There's nothing quite like a perfect male figure."

"Except a perfect female one," Eragon disagreed. He set the pack down, but before he could also sit, Arya surprised him by suddenly rising in front of him, emerging from the drab blanket like a butterfly from a cocoon in her pure magnificence. "See what I mean," he insisted, scanning her body with his eyes.

Arya laughed and wrapped her arms around him, which action he immediately reciprocated. Then she stretched languidly with her arms above her head, arching her back, twisting back and forth, and tilting her head from side to side. "I'm so sore," she mused as she settled against him.

"As am I," Eragon agreed, stroking her back. "This is nice."

"I was curious," Arya explained, smiling up at him. "We had never stood naked together, but I always liked the way your chest felt when I had clothes on. I imagined it would be even better without, and yesterday I barely gave us any time to enjoy the splendid sensation before demanding we move on to all the rest. I was right. I love how soft it feels."

"But not as soft as you," Eragon murmured. Her skin was as smooth and silky as marble but so much warmer and more inviting. He reached lower, running his hands along her hips and down her thighs as low as he could reach. She shivered with pleasure.

"No you don't," Eragon said, placing two fingers on her lips as they sought his own. "I _must_ eat, or you'll lose your husband to starvation."

Arya pouted playfully and reluctantly released him. Then they sat down in front of each other to eat, completely unconcerned by their nudity—indeed, rather appreciative of it.

Arya asked, "Do you remember when we were captured in Dras-Leona?"

"By the priests? Certainly. I'll never forget that. Why do you ask?"

"It was the first time I ever saw you in only your breeches," she said. "As unfortunate as were our circumstances, _that_ particularity repeatedly returned to the forefront of my mind, especially as you pulled on your restraints over and over. I never realized how muscular you had become, which seems foolish given how often we sparred with one another. And yet even then, you didn't look as you now do. Your chest hair is much thicker and your muscles even more powerful." She reached out and ran her fingers through the hair on his chest.

"Which isn't surprising," Eragon said. "I was only seventeen then, which is old enough to be considered a man by human standards, but I was still a very _young_ man. All of these other masculine attributes came with my final growth spurt, which happened after I left Alagaёsia. Even I was surprised when I started passing up most of the elves in height and strength. I always wanted to be as muscular as Roran. I guess I got my wish. I'm glad you don't mind my hairy body, Arya. I wouldn't feel myself if I got rid of it all to look like an elf."

"No, I most certainly do _not_ mind it," Arya assured him, continuing to play with his chest hair. "I _love_ it. Though your face makes you look strikingly like an elf—at least, when you don't have any facial hair—the rest of your body is a constant reminder to me that you're as human as they come. Only far better. Far, far better."

Eragon laughed and reached out to caress her cheek. "I couldn't agree more, my love. With your complete lack of body hair, you must be the most perfectly feminine female there is. I always equate body hair with masculinity, though human females also have it. But I love the way you look. You're incredible."

"Thank you," Arya murmured, moving her hand away from his chest and unconsciously rubbing it across her lower abdomen to release the skin from the taut layer of dry fluid leftover from the previous day's passion.

Eragon noticed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Hmmm?" Arya absently replied. "What for?"

"It seemed like your skin was bothering you where all that fluid dried. My fault, I'm afraid."

"Or mine, depending on your perspective," she impishly countered. "I _was_ the one who demanded we make love again and again." Eragon grinned. "I truly don't mind. I wasn't even aware of what I was doing. It just feels tight, but probably less uncomfortable than you appear to be with it all dried in your hair."

Eragon ruefully glanced down at himself. "Yes, so it seems. Perhaps we could find somewhere to rinse off."

"That would be nice," she mischievously said. "Remember the lake?"

"Absolutely. We _do_ need to make love in water. Does all this _other_ hair bother you?" he then wondered. "I mean, in the places you never saw before, where elves don't even grow any?"

Arya laughed at his self-conscious manner. "Of course not, Eragon. I was actually grateful for the cushion it provided between our pubic bones." She winked slyly. "I've never before had that much repeated pressure there."

Eragon cleared his throat, coloring slightly. Somehow the new day brought with it a minor resurgence of his old habits of modesty and hesitation.

Arya laughed even louder—an enchanting, musical trill. "I see now why you like it so much when I blush."

Eragon lunged for her without warning, and she squeaked in surprise as he gently fell to the ground, playfully wrestling with her. Their play turned intimate, but the light manner never left, and Eragon was careful not to be too insistent after she had mentioned her soreness.

When they sat once again and had eaten their fill, which was considerable for them both in light of the previous day's exertions, Eragon moved around to kneel behind her. He began running his fingers through her tangled hair, removing bits of grass and leaves as he went.

"We should probably try to remove this all before we get wet."

"That's just what Willow said when she was helping me yesterday!" Arya exclaimed. "She brushed my hair for me. It was the first time anyone has ever done that, and it felt wonderful. She was so gentle."

"Maybe there's a brush in here." Eragon searched the pack but came away empty-handed. "Nasuada must not have mentioned it. Murtagh wouldn't have thought of it on his own. I know I wouldn't have. We males can be insensitive brutes sometimes."

"No, Eragon," Arya protested. "You're never insensitive. I have never met a more considerate gentleman than you, and yet you're also so strong and manly. It's the perfect balance. You're always looking out for my comfort."

"Nothing is more important to me now than your comfort and happiness, Arya," Eragon murmured. He continued working on her hair, using his fingers to work out the tangles as gently as he could.

Arya suggested, "Is there a piece of wood anywhere within reach? I can't see any besides the whole tree trunks in front of me from where I'm sitting but perhaps behind us?"

Eragon checked and asked, "How large?"

"About the size of your hand," Arya answered.

Using magic, Eragon summoned a small piece of wood from a fallen tree trunk several yards behind them and handed it to her.

Arya sang softly for a few moments, infusing her words with energy from her mind. When she was finished, she turned and handed Eragon a simple brush.

"How clever," he said.

"Start at the bottom and work your way up," Arya instructed. "Then the snarls above won't get caught on ones lower down. And if you hold the section you're working on in your hand, any tugs will pull against your hand rather than my head."

Eragon followed her directions, working carefully so as not to pull. Arya hummed as he did, clearly enjoying the simple happiness of the moment. Thinking of her comment about Willow, Eragon asked, "And how did you like Willow?"

"She's delightful!" Arya gushed. "So open and honest, but not blunt in an offensive way. Always willing to say anything kind or appropriate. Displaying wisdom beyond her years. She hoped we would be friends and mentioned her loneliness as the only female Rider. I've never felt that kind of an immediate friendship with someone. It made me wonder if that's what it feels like to have a sister."

Eragon was pleased with Arya's reaction. "Willow always jokes we other Riders are all like pesky older brothers. Perhaps she will consider you her sister by extension. Not just because you're a Rider, but also because we are now married."

"I would love it," Arya honestly said. "She was truly wonderful. Do you think it possible that Varhog might fancy her?"

"Oh yes!" Eragon cried. "I noticed you observing him yesterday as he helped Willow clear the table. It seemed completely ordinary to me until I saw your reaction, and I hoped I would remember to ask you. But I didn't think my chances were that promising with all of the distractions I was anticipating."

Arya laughed, and Eragon became more thoughtful as he considered her question. "As for Varhog fancying her," he repeated, "I can't say for sure. They immediately hit it off and became friends very quickly when she arrived, but if his feelings have progressed beyond that, it has been without my awareness, which really means very little. I was completely oblivious to all things romantic or emotional while we were apart. I practically lived in my fighting mind to make life bearable. It helped so much to be able to observe everything with such emotionless detachment. Have you noticed anything that led you to that conclusion?"

"Very little," Arya said. "A look here, some loaded words there. She seems very fond of him as a friend, but his eyes sometimes betrayed greater affection than that. I was very surprised to think that such a thing might be, since the idea that an Urgal would want a human is so foreign to me. You know elves often think more kindly about the Urgralgra than the other races, but even we aren't so foolish as to believe that the differences between _humans_ and Urgals, in particular, could be overcome to that degree."

"Yes, that's true. It seems the enmity there has always been the strongest, though the Battle under Farthen Dûr certainly didn't help dwarf-Urgal relations. I'll have to be more attentive when—if—we return." He laughed as she giggled at his statement.

When he was finished brushing, Arya's hair looked smooth, lustrous, and clean of any particles. "I'm done," Eragon softly informed.

Arya easily ran her fingers through it as she turned around to face him. "You'll have to do that again sometime. It feels unbelievably pleasant. Maybe I'll return the favor to demonstrate how wonderful it is, but just with my fingers. I'll wash your hair when we return."

Eragon shrugged. "Fine with me, but I'll gladly brush your hair whenever you wish. I've always loved it. It's soft like silk, dark and shining. And full of that amazing smell I love so much." His eyes were solemn, and Arya noticed the change in his mood.

"What is it, Eragon?"

"I just felt an overwhelming thankfulness. I feel like I don't deserve this blessing of having you, but I'm nonetheless so grateful. It stuck me forcefully just then as I was brushing your hair how unlikely this whole week has been. It was but a week ago that I lay despairing by the lake, wondering how I would ever endure the pain of that blasted heat for the remainder of my unnaturally long life. I knew it would never be satisfied—I would never be released—but through you. But it seemed impossible that would ever happen and was unbearably hopeless. And yet now you're here and yesterday was beyond my wildest imagination and . . . I'm grateful," he finished. "I love you, my wife."

Arya nodded silently, too emotional to add anything but, "I love you too, Eragon. And I cherish hearing you call me your wife."

Eragon hastily stuffed what few things they had into the pack, lingering remorsefully on the leggings he had torn from her body. "I'm sorry about these," he said. "I'm afraid I didn't give much thought to my actions at the moment."

Arya laughed at him and took them. "Nor did I, Eragon. Indeed, you couldn't have removed them in a more appropriate way. Anything longer would have been unacceptable." He grinned, and they both remembered their first intimate union for a moment, precious as it was to them, since it had already been followed by so many more.

Arya quickly mended the pants with magic. "It's good I can do this," she remarked, folding and packing them away. "Otherwise I would have had to walk back to the city just as you see me now."

"And all save Willow, perhaps, would no doubt have appreciated my thoughtlessness at that moment," Eragon assured her.

" _All?_ " Arya pressed. "What of you, my husband? Would you also have appreciated it?"

"No, I can't say I would have," Eragon admitted. "I'm afraid I feel a jealous possessiveness of my exclusive awareness of your true splendor and perfection." He placed his hand on her cheek, slowly running it down her body before dropping it back to his lap.

Arya closed her eyes, apparently relishing his gentle touch. Then they arose together, joining hands as Eragon shouldered the pack and setting off in search of a place to wash.


	27. Contentment

**27\. Contentment**

They soon found a small stream where they filled their water skins, drank, and then filled them again. As they continued walking along the bank of the stream, Eragon remembered that it pooled a short distance down.

When they reached the pool, Eragon checked to see if it was deep and clear of stones under the surface then, without warning, grabbed Arya and easily tossed her into the water. He dropped the pack and dove in after her. She came up spluttering, and he did too, gasping at the coolness of the water.

"That wasn't fair!" Arya cried with a laugh as she splashed water at him.

"No, indeed," Eragon agreed. "But after feeling the temperature of this water, I suppose it was needful. If we had tried to enter slowly, we may not have had the courage."

Arya laughed again. "True. Come then and let me warm you some."

They urgently tangled together, hoping their exertion would stave off the cold of the water, which it did. " _That's_ what I wanted to do at the lake," Arya said in breathless satisfaction when they were finally still. She hunched her shoulders, keeping herself against him by holding on around his neck. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, and Eragon supported under her with one arm.

"Mmmm," Eragon muttered, searching her neck, collarbone, and shoulders with his mouth. She let him continue for as long as he wished, savoring every moment and trembling when he used his tongue. "You taste so good," he finally said, stopping regretfully as she started shivering.

"You needn't stop," Arya insisted, her teeth chattering.

"But you're cold. So shall we swim to warm ourselves or get out?"

"Why don't we do _that_ again?" she suggested as a third option.

"Because I can't," Eragon apologized. "It has only been a few minutes, and I haven't yet recovered."

Arya sighed in understanding disappointment. "Very well. Let's swim _then_ do that again."

Eragon laughed in amazement at her truly unquenchable desire. "I'm a lucky man," he proudly stated.

Arya swam away swiftly, attempting to make up for the absence of his body heat with warmth from the exercise. The pool wasn't nearly as large as the lake, but it still provided sufficient room for them to wade around and tease one another.

Eragon finally succeeded in launching Arya into the air without being pulled under by sneakily approaching from behind. She cried out in delight as she fell back toward the water, attempting to make her splash as wide-reaching as possible so it would hit him as well.

Once the sun began to set and the water felt even colder as a result, they exited the pool, using magic to remove the water from their bodies and hair and snuggling in a still-sunny patch to warm up. They weren't able to remain that way for long before greedily consummating their love once more, which helped considerably in their warming up efforts.

For many days they followed this carefree pattern—eating, sleeping, swimming, teasing, talking, and falling ever deeper in love. Neither one of them had known it was possible to feel such contentment, and they were happier than ever before.

-:-:-:-


	28. Progress

**28\. Progress**

Willow didn't go to Lake Arya the day after Eragon's wedding, but she did fly alone with Sunset all day. The Riders had agreed to have a one-day break from their usual routine before resuming their studies and training, for they had all worked tirelessly to prepare the celebration.

However, about six days later—when the newlyweds still hadn't returned and Murtagh, Hanin, Varhog, and Grintuk were the only four still in the running for Murtagh's bet—Willow decided to finally take her trip. She arose at her usual time and dressed in dark-colored summer clothing. When Sunset asked her why she wore a black elbow-length shirt over her undergarments as opposed to the usual white, Willow explained that she wanted to be modest in front of Varhog in case they went swimming.

 _If he even comes_ , Willow brooded. She had made a firm resolve not to pester Varhog to reveal his feelings—if they even existed—and had done her best to act as if nothing had changed between them. They still spent a great deal of time together, but since the day she had flown alone all day without even telling him—which had worried him a great deal, she later learned—he had been more withdrawn, as if concerned his company was no longer as welcome to her.

 _He will come, sunshine,_ Sunset reassured.

 _You tried to warn me about being aloof. I don't know why I didn't at least tell him I would be gone with you. It was surprising that he worried so much. He knows nothing on the Isle can hurt me, especially when you and I are together. I suppose his concern is evidence of his regard. Maybe. I'm going to go crazy if he doesn't say something to me soon. Or perhaps he has nothing to say and I'm making mountains out of mole hills._

 _You know that is not true, Willow,_ her dragon insisted.

 _I don't know what I'm sure of anymore,_ Willow said as she headed out the door. _I'll be in the kitchens preparing food for the day. I'll let you know when I'm ready to saddle you so we can meet by the stables._ The stables were merely used for storing all of the equipment needed to ride the dragons, since they obviously didn't stay in stalls strewn with hay.

Willow glanced toward Varhog's room as she left her own. He was most likely already awake. Rare was the day she arose before him. She made her way to the kitchens and found them empty, which surprised her. She must have awakened earlier than she realized if none of her ravenous brothers were already eating.

She went about packing food for her day trip. When she realized that their supply of hardboiled eggs was dwindling after she took a fair few, Willow decided to gather the eggs from the chicken coops after preparing fresh bread for baking. She readied enough food with the expectation that Varhog would accompany her, hoping her efforts wouldn't be in vain.

There was no evidence in the kitchen that anyone had been there that morning, so Willow set a large pot of water to boil for oatmeal. The Riders shared equally in the task of preparing meals. Usually, whoever arrived first for whichever meal was next simply began making food for everyone. Their schedule wasn't rigid, but they shared their meals at fairly regular intervals.

Willow had just laid a cloth over the bread loaves and washed her hands when Hanin entered the room with a large basketful of eggs.

"Good morning, Willow," he greeted. "Here are the eggs from the coops. You're up early."

"I didn't even realize how early it was," Willow said with a smile. "Thank you for gathering those, Hanin. That was helpful. I was actually getting ready to go do that right now, since I depleted the store of hardboiled eggs."

Willow wasn't surprised that Hanin had come in from outside, though it was still so early. He and Vera stayed in quarters he had sung from a majestic pine, for he loved the green of the forest and all of the living plants therein.

"Are you going somewhere?" Hanin asked, grabbing another large pot. He covered the bottom in a single layer of eggs and filled it with water, heating it to boiling with magic so the eggs would cook.

"To Lake Arya," Willow confirmed. "I have a leisure day and that's where I want to go. It has been ages since I went swimming, since it used to be that Eragon always went whenever he could be spared. And he always wanted to be alone."

"Are you sure he and Arya aren't there?" Hanin asked, grinning. "That could be potentially awkward."

Willow also smiled. "Sunset checked with Saphira for me. Eragon and Arya haven't moved far from where they first stopped near the stream not fifteen minutes from the city, at least for an elf running. I suppose it would take me closer to an hour to reach them on foot."

"No, sister. You are very fast for a human. You're not that much slower than we."

"Running I am, though I'm fast enough in close quarters."

"Well, that outing sounds fun. You have a fair amount of food there. Enough for one tall human and an even taller Urgal, by the looks of it."

"We are a rather tall bunch," Willow remarked.

"Except for the dwarves."

"And Tomath, though I'm sure he'll get there in time." Willow laughed, and Hanin joined her. "But anyway, you're right, Hanin. I am going to invite Varhog along, though I'm not as sure as I once was that he'll come." Her demeanor dimmed slightly.

"He will go, Willow."

"You seem certain of it."

"I am. He'll go."

"But he hasn't acted as eager to spend time with me these past few days," Willow pointed out. "If he doesn't want to come, you could."

Hanin regarded her carefully. "That would be very enjoyable, Willow, but he wouldn't approve."

"Do you mean Varhog?" she wondered. Hanin nodded. "Why would you say that?"

Hanin shrugged. "It saddens me to see you unhappy, Willow, but it's not my place to say."

"Never mind," Willow dismissed in a somewhat sullen tone. "I'm sure you could, but no one seems willing to reveal to me what exactly it is that Varhog feels towards me, if anything, least of all Varhog himself. Which makes me think there's nothing out of the ordinary to reveal. However, if there _is_ something he wants to tell me, I want to hear it from _him_."

"Good," Hanin said, crossing the room to give her a friendly embrace. "You're amazing, Willow. I'm glad to have you as my friend."

"Thank you, Hanin. I feel the same. And lucky for me, I'm one of the few human females to say I'm on hugging terms with Hanin the Handsome. The only one, probably."

"'Hanin the Handsome'?" he skeptically repeated. "Who came up with that one?"

"I did," Willow said with a giggle. "Just now."

"You're silly, Willow."

"I've never denied it," she airily said. "You _are_ dashingly handsome, Hanin, and you know it. But to your everlasting credit, you have never let it go to your head."

"Well, that's a relief! Though I suddenly feel more self-conscious around you."

"Pfff! Don't you be silly too!" Willow chided. "There can't be two silly people in the same room without all manner of nonsense following. You will always be like a brother to me, Hanin. A very handsome, much-older brother."

Hanin stepped away and gave her an affectionate smile. "I suppose we could pass for brother and sister. Though my hair is darker and your ears need to be a bit more pointed. You are extraordinarily beautiful, Willow." She smiled brightly at his compliment. "And so there's no confusion, you're the only human woman I have ever embraced. I don't know that I can even say I have hugged my own mother, as terrible as that sounds. Elves don't commonly show their affection in such open gestures."

"I had gathered that," Willow replied. "The thought of giving Blödhgarm or any of the other elves a hug seems about as natural as the thought of hugging a Nïdhwal."

Hanin chuckled, playing along with her. "Or Cuaroc," he suggested, referring to the dragon-headed metal man who guarded the Eldunarí.

"Or Cuaroc," she agreed with another laugh. "You must be different because you're a Rider. Arya didn't seem to have any problems with open affection, at least where Eragon was concerned."

"That could be part of it," Hanin conceded. "Though I know from living in Ellesméra that Arya wasn't always as open. That you are so warm and friendly surely has something to do with it. I don't know that the Riders of old had the same dynamic as we have in our ranks, but we're quite the caring group, aren't we?"

"Indeed. But I'm appalled you haven't ever hugged your mother, Hanin. Next time you see her, please redeem yourself, for my sake if nothing else."

"I promise I will, Willow," Hanin vowed. "She will no doubt appreciate it."

"No doubt. Did you by chance happen to notice Varhog outside? I'm starting to worry that I haven't seen him yet. He's usually awake before me, but I've been in here almost an hour and no sign of him."

"I didn't see him, but there are many places outside that I haven't visited this morning."

"I'll go check his room. Thank you for your help and for brightening my morning, Hanin."

"The pleasure was all mine, Willow. What can I do to help in here?"

"When that bread is finished rising, it needs to bake. The oatmeal is all but ready. I suppose you can prepare some fruit and other toppings."

"Consider it done, my dear."

Willow smiled warmly and left the room, retracing her steps back through the Great Hall and into the expansive corridor leading to the other Riders' living quarters. The hallways were wide and tall enough for the dragons to pass through, just as they had been in Doru Araeba, home of the ancient Riders.

Willow passed her room and continued on to Varhog's door. There she knocked, calling, "Varhog?"

-:-:-

Varhog looked up sharply, springing off his bed in alarm as Willow's voice closely followed the knock on his door. He snatched his pants off the back of his chair, clumsily pulling them on as he stumbled toward the door and hastily lacing them up before opening it.

Attempting to keep a flustered expression from his face, Varhog greeted with forced casualness, "Good morning, Willow. Is everything all right?"

"I might ask the same of you," Willow said, smiling at his appearance. "Here it is nearly eight in the morning and you haven't yet emerged from your quarters. Are you well?"

"Is it that time already?" Varhog asked in surprise. "I'm quite well, thank you. I must have lost track of time."

Willow's smile widened, and Varhog gripped the door handle he was still holding more tightly.

"Doing what?" Willow questioned.

"Reading," Varhog said with unquenchable enthusiasm. "Knilf brought back some fascinating texts from the library in Tronjheim. I requested that he bring some written in Dwarvish to help me with my comprehension level. They're enthralling. I hope to someday have the opportunity to visit Tronjheim, if only to see their library. It's the—"

"Second largest in all of Alagaёsia," Willow finished for him, still smiling. "You've told me. You're so amazing, Yelloweyes. How many languages _can_ you speak?"

Varhog was modestly abashed but honestly answered, "Five fluently. Many more with varying degrees of fluency and comprehension."

"Five?" she mouthed in silent astonishment. Aloud she said, "Is reading all you've been doing this morning?"

"Uh, no," Varhog awkwardly replied. "I exercised first. And did my laundry."

Willow grinned. "You must have been up early then. I'm really curious to see your room, Yelloweyes, but I can't see anything around your huge torso."

Varhog glanced down at himself. "I'm sorry. I . . . you surprised me. I only had time to hastily pull on my pants."

Willow laughed at his discomfiture. "You needn't apologize," she reassured. "I don't mind." Varhog thought her eyes lingered a moment on his torso. Was that admiration in them? He was trying to decipher her expression when she prompted, "May I see your room?"

"By all means," he invited, backing up to allow her to enter.

Willow took a few steps and stopped right in front of him, turning her head to take a closer look at his gray-skinned chest, which was covered in stiff black bristles. "I can see why you always wear leather clothing and insist I do the same whenever we fight," she observed. "Those look formidable."

She reached out to feel them, and Varhog stiffened in response. "Forgive me, Yelloweyes," Willow said, quickly dropping her hand. Her eyes darted up to his, and he discovered an unreadable jumble of emotions in them.

But she continued looking up at him, apparently performing a scrutiny of her own, and Varhog realized that his face must be expressing any number of conflicting feelings right then. He cleared his throat and ran his hands over his bristles. Willow grinned again, and Varhog clearly recognized the emotion on her face before she glanced away. It was definitely admiration. No doubt about it, but she was trying not to let it be too obvious.

Varhog stared down at his torso in confusion, repeating the innocent action of moving his hands up and down. All of the muscles in his chest, arms, and shoulders rippled, which meant nothing to Varhog but apparently something to Willow. _Does she_ like _the way I look?_ he incredulously wondered.

Willow had taken a couple more steps into the room. She now glanced back at him over her shoulder with a questioning look in her eyes, and Varhog realized the silence between them had begun to be uncomfortable.

"There's nothing to forgive, Willow," he finally managed to say in response to her apology. "I was only surprised, as I always am, whenever a part of me so vastly different from you doesn't seem to bother you." He grabbed his shirt off the back of his chair and swiftly pulled it on over his horns and head. As he tightened the laces at the top, he added, "My bristles _are_ very stiff and would no doubt be very irritating to you if they ever happened to brush your skin."

Willow laughed at his insinuation, which only increased Varhog's embarrassment, for he of course had not meant to imply what _she_ had.

Varhog stammered, "I only meant . . . I didn't mean . . ."

"Don't worry, Yelloweyes," Willow comforted with a teasing smile. "I know what you meant. But wouldn't it be interesting if you had meant the other?" She defiantly quirked one eyebrow, which made Varhog smile.

Willow then looked around the room. When her eyes fell on his dragon curled up in his groove on the floor, she said, "Hello, Black Thunder."

 _Willow,_ the dragon acknowledged.

"It's very tidy in here," Willow commented, moving her eyes from the tall wardrobe to his desk and chair to the huge bed in the main living area. She craned her neck to better see into the washroom.

Varhog followed her gaze. "It's like yours," he informed her. "A deep depression in the floor for bathing or washing laundry, a sink and mirror, and a toilet. I helped build it all after I arrived here." The Riders had patterned their quarters after the more convenient and modern arrangements found in Ellesméra and other elven cities, where the elves incorporated more sophisticated methods of plumbing than would be found in any human city.

"I see," Willow said, looking straight up. The room was very high and spacious—as was necessary to allow a dragon enough room to enter, land, and exit with ease—and Varhog realized that only lent to the barren feel of his quarters, for the few pieces of furniture Willow had first looked at were the only items in the room besides a laundry hamper, which was currently empty, as well as a shelf full of books and scrolls. On the table was a bottle of ink, several quills contained in a jar, and a sheaf of parchment for writing.

"I guess it seems really empty," Varhog apologized. "I don't have much to clutter it with."

"I can see that," Willow replied. "But it's still really clean."

"Are you surprised?" he wondered.

"I suppose I shouldn't be. You've never struck me as the slovenly, hoarding type." She smiled at him. "Except for when it comes to books, perhaps. I'm impressed. You would think that after nearly seven years of friendship, I would know something like this about you. Every new thing I learn about you only increases my opinion of you, Yelloweyes, which is saying something, since it's already so favorable."

"That means a lot to me, Willow."

"What kind of exercising do you do?" Willow then queried.

Varhog shrugged. Though he was accustomed to Willow's insatiable curiosity, he was unsure what to make of her keen interest in this area. "The Rimgar, for flexibility and balance. A variety of calisthenics to maintain my current strength—pushups, pull-ups, sit-ups, lunges. That sort of thing."

"I see. Wouldn't want to lose the reputation of being the strongest Dragon Rider, now would you? Where would _that_ leave us?" Willow glanced back at him over her shoulder, a playful smile once again turning up the corners of her lips.

Varhog couldn't help but also grin. "I only do it to maintain my health. I don't have much control over the strength."

"I was only teasing, Yelloweyes," Willow said with a laugh. "I understand. I also exercise for fitness. But you don't use any extra weight?" She cast her eyes about again to see if she might have missed something along those lines.

"No. My body is very heavy. It seems to provide sufficient resistance."

She looked back at him again and stared a moment at his now-covered torso. "So it seems," she agreed. "How heavy _is_ your body?"

"I don't know exactly. Maybe four hundred pounds. I could be wrong. I've never weighed myself."

"Four hundred . . . ?" Willow trailed off in disbelief. "But there wasn't an ounce of fat on you! Which means all of that weight comes from your massive muscles!"

Varhog shrugged helplessly. "I'm an Urgal," was his pathetic attempt to explain what had never seemed extraordinary to him.

Willow nodded conciliatorily then looked away from Varhog toward his dragon. "Black Thunder, is he trying to hide the truth that he actually wrestles with you every morning?"

Varhog knew his dragon hadn't expected Willow to address him, nor would he ever have anticipated that she would joke around with him. Black Thunder was so surprised and amused that a deafening snort escaped his huge maw, complete with a stream of black fire.

Varhog quickly protected his belongings from the blistering inferno using magic, lunging forward to catch the book that had vibrated off the bed before it hit the stone floor. "My father!" he cried in exasperation, speaking aloud for Willow's benefit. "This volume is priceless! Knilf would kill me if I returned it with so much as a scratch on its surface."

 _I am sorry, my son,_ the dragon responded in both of their minds. _It is not often that a two-legs catches me by surprise or amuses me. I was unprepared for Willow's question._

Black Thunder continued only to Varhog, _Stop acting so surprised that she admires you, Varhog! Is that not what you want? You are acting like a fool!_

His amusement continuing to color his thoughts, the dragon then answered Willow's question, _Varhog does not wrestle with me each morning, Willow, though I suspect he would be able to do considerable damage with his bare hands if he put his mind to it._

"No doubt," Willow said. "So Yelloweyes, do you sleep in your bed?"

"Uh . . . I. . . . Yes, Willow, I do," Varhog confirmed in confusion, unable to stop acting foolish in spite of his dragon's advice because of how awkward Willow's interest made him feel.

Willow giggled at his uncertain manner. "I only asked because I often sleep by Sunset's side. It's comforting to snuggle next to a warm, living creature. At least for me. I've always been so lonely but never by choice. I guess I crave that contact."

She kept her eyes studiously away from him, and Varhog wondered if there was any possible way she could be thinking what he was thinking—namely, how nice it would be if _he_ could provide such a source of warmth and companionship for her if their relationship ever progressed. But he drove the thought from his mind. It was foolishness to think that she would want an Urgal for her husband.

"That and it's meticulously neat," Willow finished after a moment of silence. "You seem to take good care of your things."

"It's how I was taught," Varhog explained.

Without looking at him, Willow asked, "Do you usually exercise in only your undergarments?"

Varhog was glad she wasn't looking. He creased his brow in consternation at his dragon then struggled to answer. "Yes. I sleep in them too."

"Is it as scanty as what I've come to expect from my studies? Your loin cloth?"

Varhog couldn't suppress his amused, exasperated exhalation. "Thanks to my time here with humans, it's slightly more involved than what most Urgralgra would wear. Similar to a short pair of shorts."

"I see." Willow looked at him again, and Varhog hurriedly cleared his expression. "It's a big bed."

"Because I'm big," Varhog said with a grin.

"That you are. But it reminds me of something."

"What's that?"

"Eragon would appreciate having a bigger bed when—if—he returns with Arya." Willow grinned. "They might just stay away forever."

"I would," Varhog said, almost inaudibly.

Willow looked at him questioningly but made no comment, and Varhog kicked himself internally for his stupidity. Instead she asked, "Do you know anything about making furniture?"

"Aye, Willow."

"You haven't called me Eartheyes once this morning, Varhog. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

Varhog blinked as he realized she was right. "I feel perfectly sound, at least physically," he assured. "It's disconcerting having you in my room, is all. Especially since you seem so interested in everything."

"That shouldn't surprise you, Yelloweyes. I've always been exceedingly curious. To a fault sometimes, I daresay."

"I disagree."

Willow beamed at him. "Well, maybe tomorrow we can work on expanding Eragon's bed or simply building a new one. But I promise I didn't come here simply to examine your personal space and ask you to help me with an unexpected project. I'm going to fly to the lake today and wanted to invite you to come. I understand if you don't want to. I'm sure that book is calling your name. I've noticed your reluctance to spend as much time with me lately, so I would hate for you to feel obligated against your wishes." She stopped at the pained look of longing on his face.

Varhog quickly cleared it and decisively set the book on his desk. "I would _love_ to come, Willow," he firmly said. "No book has ever provided me with greater pleasure than your friendship or company. I gather I have already made you wait longer than you planned, but do I have time to quickly wash up?"

"Certainly," she said. "I was planning on swimming. But you needn't join me."

Varhog smiled, and his hand twitched by his side as he struggled to prevent it from reaching out to touch her. "I'll swim," he said. "But I still want to wash up. There's a good reason the Varden always complained about our beastly smell. We Urgals smell beastly after the slightest exertion. Thank goodness I have also acquired that habit as a result of becoming a Dragon Rider, namely of bathing myself daily, if not more often. I'll only be two minutes."

-:-:-

"Take your time," Willow said, turning to leave. Varhog grabbed the door to open it for her, and she noticed that he _did_ smell a certain way, but she didn't find it unpleasant. She wondered what that could mean as she waited for him in the hallway, but she had little time to consider it before he was by her side less than two minutes later. His hair was wet, and a musky, masculine smell of pine and cedar surrounded him, which must have come from his soap.

"That was amazing, Yelloweyes. I don't see how you can even get your whole body wet that fast, let alone wash it and your hair. Do you use magic?"

"No. It's a survival skill anyone from a large family possesses," Varhog said with a grin. Since they were no longer in his room, he seemed to feel less awkward.

"Ah yes. Eight children. I can imagine. As one of the oldest, did you have seniority at bath time?"

Varhog chuckled. "Usually, though I was sometimes kind enough to let my youngest sister take my place, so she wouldn't always have to bathe in cold, murky water. It's too bad the Urgralgra haven't adapted the more modern accommodations we have here. Growing up, we would fill up the washbasin and everyone would go one after the other, at least until we were old enough to do it on our own if we wanted more frequent baths."

"I want to hear about your family," Willow implored. "I haven't asked about them in a while. Have you spoken with your mother recently?" Willow loved hearing of Varhog's large family and how it was growing. All of her family had passed away, and she'd had so little time with any member of it.

"I briefly spoke with my uncle before Firesword's wedding, but there wasn't enough time for my mother to be fetched before it started. I'll give you an update," Varhog promised. "How about when we get to the lake?"

"Perfect. But let's eat breakfast before we leave."

"Absolutely," he agreed. "I might not have put that book down all day if you hadn't come searching for me, but my stomach would have hated me for it by dinnertime." Willow smiled. "You know, Eartheyes, you have to let me see your room now too."

"It's much the same as yours, Varhog. But if you really want to, I don't mind." They were nearly to her door. "Do you want to right now?" Willow offered.

"Why not?"

Willow stopped at her room, opened the door, and walked in. "Here it is," she grandly announced.

Varhog followed her in and looked around. "Everything is as tidy as in my room," he stated, "but it feels more personal." Willow noticed him eyeing the two painted portraits hanging near her bed, and he crossed to look at them. "Is this your family?"

"Those are my parents," Willow answered. "It was painted before I was born."

"What were their names?"

"William and Monrow. My name was a combination of theirs."

"And this one is you when you were younger," Varhog said of the other painting. "You look so similar. Were you about eight?"

"Yes, and with me is my younger brother, William, when he was three. He was always so sick, but I loved him so much."

Varhog looked at Willow as tears filled her eyes. She knew he had heard the emotion affecting her voice and could see that he wanted to comfort her but wasn't sure how. He dared gently take her hand. "I'm sorry, Willow. You must miss them."

Willow nodded, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. "Yes. Sometimes more than others. Having a friend like you has helped." She looked up at Varhog, hoping he would understand that she wished he would do more to comfort her. His face was full of concern as he cautiously reached out and enfolded her in his arms. She wrapped her own arms tightly around his back, pressing her face into his chest. Her body started trembling as the tears flowed more freely and a muffled sob left her throat.

Willow wasn't expecting the intensity of her emotions. She usually did an admirable job of hiding any sadness she felt over losing her whole family. She wasn't the only Rider who had, after all. But she couldn't stop the tears, and though she was slightly embarrassed that Varhog was seeing her like this, she was also so grateful he was there. The emptiness she usually felt was so much less painful with his arms wrapped around her.

She knew she wouldn't be able to speak coherently until the tears had run their course, so she let them, and Varhog held her, stroking her back with one hand. Willow suddenly knew she loved him and wished she could think of a reason for him to hold her like this every day.

At length she turned her face to the side and said, "I'm sorry, Varhog. My brother died twelve years ago today. I remember the anniversaries of their deaths as well as I do their birthdays, if not better in the case of my parents. These days are always harder than the rest. Thank you for your kindness and comfort. It made it so much easier."

"I'm glad, Willow," Varhog quietly said. She pressed her ear closer to his chest, loving his deep voice even more in her current location. "If there is ever any way I can lessen your pain, my sweet friend, I hope you will tell me."

Willow smiled, suggesting, "Something like this would always help, even when the sadness isn't threatening to tear me apart."

"I'll be sure to remember that," Varhog promised. He made no move to end the embrace, nor did she. Willow would have been content to remain like this for a long while, and he seemed of the same mind. "Your hair smells nice," he told her with his face resting on her head.

"Thank you, Yelloweyes," she murmured. "You smell nice too. And you're so warm. I could stay here all day, but I can hear your stomach gurgling. I suppose we should get some breakfast before it's gone."

His hesitation in answering confirmed Willow's suspicion that he didn't want to release her, but Varhog finally said, "If you wish."

"Did you want to see anything else in my room?" she wondered, lifting her head without moving away.

Willow stared straight up at him as he glanced around and was filled with the insane urge to stretch up and kiss the deep cleft in his chin, which she had always found so charming. She was grateful his words distracted her.

"I like how it seems more personal," Varhog said. "You have some pictures and decorations." She followed his line of sight and saw the vase with fresh flowers on her writing table. "And you're also very tidy. But that doesn't surprise me. It's how you always are in the kitchens and everywhere else. You seem to unconsciously organize everything you come across."

She smiled as he looked back down at her. "That's true," she agreed. "I don't even notice it half the time." Her heart began pounding more quickly at how close their faces were, though he was a foot taller than she.

"Do you keep a journal?" Varhog asked, once again derailing her romantic fantasies.

"I do," Willow said, finally pulling away—though reluctantly—to keep herself from doing something ridiculous. After trailing one finger over the painted image of her little brother, she turned and crossed the room. Though it was truer than she was letting on, she teasingly continued, "And it's full of all sorts of interesting things about _you_ , Yelloweyes."

"Is that so?" Varhog returned in a similarly playful manner that Willow could see was contrived.

"Oh yes," she said with affected seriousness. "Where else would I confess all of my deepest secrets? I can only tell Sunset so much." Then she laughed and knew he understood why. There was actually very little she could keep from Sunset, even if she had wished it were otherwise, which was a predicament any Dragon Rider would appreciate.

Varhog followed her across the room and opened the door for her, as he always did whenever they were together.

"Thank you, my friend," Willow said as she left her room. Varhog closed the door behind himself and while they continued their short walk to the kitchens, Willow added, "I actually meant to ask back in your room if the Urgralgra have a written language?"

"We do," Varhog verified. "It's composed of its own unique alphabet, with runes and letters different from any of the other languages. There are few texts in Urgralish. When I write in _my_ journal, I write in Urgralish. Maybe they will someday become the basis for some great, scholarly work," he teasingly finished.

"No doubt they will," Willow seriously agreed. "An Urgal scholar. Quite the conundrum, aren't you, Yelloweyes?"

"Conundrum, yes. Scholar, no. Not even close. I have barely scratched the surface of all there is to know and learn. The more I do learn, the more I realize that there's more information and knowledge out there than I'll ever be able to gather and comprehend, even in my very long lifetime. No wonder the Riders became so wise and learned. No wonder the oldest Eldunarí are so intelligent and mind-boggling. They have had time to contemplate and solve some of the greatest mysteries of life. I wish I had known the ancient language during my brief time in Ellesméra. They have the largest library in all of Alagaёsia."

Willow mouthed his last words along with him, giving him a playful smile. "You and libraries, Yelloweyes. You'll soon have the biggest one of any of the Riders, I daresay." She laughed and went on, "If ever I needed a motivation to learn Urgralish, I just found one. What I wouldn't give to read your journals. That's a good defense mechanism, by the way. No one but Grintuk would be able to decipher your innermost thoughts and feelings."

-:-:-

Varhog was glad they arrived at the kitchen then, for he knew not how to respond. His journals _did_ contain a fair amount about Willow, especially in more recent years as his feelings had deepened and he had no one to express them to save Black Thunder. If he could only find the courage to tell her how he felt, there would be no reason for her to learn the truth in a roundabout way.

Many of the other Riders were also eating breakfast. Willow and Varhog heartily ate their fill before informing Murtagh of their plans. Then they met their dragons at the stables.

They saddled the dragons and stowed the few items they had packed in the saddlebags. Both Riders strapped their arms and legs in the saddle restraints so the two dragons could safely perform whatever maneuvers they desired without harming them. Then they were off.

The flight took a couple of hours, but it wasn't lonely for Willow or Varhog. Though they were apart, each engaged in conversation with their dragons.

Varhog began his dialogue with Black Thunder by saying, _Why do you think she was so curious about all those things this morning, my father? I mean, my loin cloth? I was shocked she would ask that. It was incredibly awkward._

His dragon rumbled in amusement. _I cannot pretend to understand the finer points of courtship between you two-legs. It seems far more complicated than it should be. With dragons, we simply decide we want to mate and do it right then and there._

 _Which makes me wonder why you never have,_ Varhog dryly observed. _There are plenty of eligible females on the island. But that is beside the point. It might be that easy if Willow was an Urgal or I a human, but she's not and I'm not. To think we can easily decide to join is foolishness. Imagine the displeasure and outright hostility such a thing would provoke in both our races. On the Isle no one would think twice of it. All of the others, save Firesword and Tomath perhaps, know exactly how I feel and wish I would find the nerve to tell her. I'm of the same mind, but that doesn't seem to make it any easier. Why am I such a coward about this? It all goes back to our different races._

 _It seems that her opinion has started to evolve, Varhog._ _She greatly admired you this morning. Could you not clearly see that? I could. I like her, my son. She is honest and humorous. Do not risk losing her by dragging your feet. You would not likely forgive yourself. Her dragon is very comely, is she not?_

Varhog chuckled. _Aye, Sunset is very beautiful. Like her Rider. We both seem rather focused only on what's in our minds, don't we?_

 _Today would be a perfect opportunity for this much-anticipated conversation,_ Black Thunder pointed out, returning his mind to their discussion. _You will be alone together. Maybe the opportunity will present itself. Will you take advantage of it, if it does?_

 _I don't know!_ Varhog exclaimed in frustration. _The opportunity_ has _presented itself on a number of occasions, and Willow always patiently and expectantly waits to see if I will seize it, but I haven't. I hate making her wonder, especially since she has begun to interpret it to mean that I don't want to spend as much time with her. I only want to be with her. All day, all night. She's all I think about, as you obviously know. I'm as lovesick as Firesword or Murtagh. Relationships between Riders seem by their very natures to be complex._

 _That is true, my son. I am sorry I do not have better counsel for you. You are not a coward. Let some of your strength carry into this area._

-:-:-

Almost as soon as they were flying, though Sunset was executing the most dizzying acrobatics she could, Willow recalled her memory of seeing Varhog shirtless and gushed, _Look at his torso, Sunset! I knew he was strong, but I never would have suspected he was_ that _strong. It was unbelievable! But those bristles! They looked so sharp! That would be an obstacle to an intimate relationship, wouldn't it? At least if_ I _was his mate._

 _Perhaps,_ her dragon replied. _I am sure something could be done about it. So you continue to think of him like that?_

 _That must be it!_ Willow cried. _I've never before noticed how desirable Varhog is because I always simply thought of him as a dear friend. Now that I can imagine him as more, I'm having all sorts of new thoughts and feelings. Like wanting to kiss him! Good thing he kept distracting me! But I have no idea how to interpret his reticence. The longer he goes without saying anything, the more I think his feelings continue to be what they always have been and that he doesn't want to hurt me. I worry I'm bothering him by continuing to seek him out. I hope our friendship won't suffer._

 _He values your friendship above anything, sunshine,_ Sunset reminded her _. He said so himself this morning._

 _No, he didn't say that exactly,_ Willow disagreed, _just that no book has ever provided him greater pleasure than my company or friendship. But that sentiment doesn't necessarily extend to everything else._

 _Sunshine,_ Sunset thought in amused exasperation, _it is as plain as the nose on your face how he feels. All of the other Riders can see it. You are starting to see it. But I too can think of no reason why he would not tell you unless he feels as you do, namely that he thinks_ you _think a relationship with him would be impossible because of your different races._

 _Sunset! Why would he feel that way?_ Willow lamented. _I've never been bothered that Varhog is an Urgal. Ever. He_ knows _that, or at least he_ should. _Well, whatever the case may be, I will continue not to press him for an explanation of his behavior. He needs to pluck up the courage and tell me, if it's this difficult for him. I hope he will soon because I realized in my room how much I love him. I don't want to be only friends anymore. I want to be more. I felt complete when he was holding me so tenderly. You know how hard these days usually are for me, but having Varhog there made it so much better._

 _He_ has _always filled part of the void in your soul after losing your father,_ Sunset observed.

 _That he has,_ Willow agreed. _I've always wanted to marry my best friend, Sunset. It just so happens that my best friend ended up being an Urgal, and I want to marry him more than I've ever imagined wanting to marry someone._

 _Well, he would be lucky to have you, sunshine. But of course_ I _am going to say that._

Willow smiled and hugged her dragon more tightly.

-:-:-

Not long after, the dragons arrived at Lake Arya. Their Riders dismounted and met between Black Thunder and Sunset, the former of which was observing the latter with obvious admiration. Sunset demurely turned her head, though Willow could have sworn she was arching her neck to appear more becoming.

 _You're flirting with him,_ Willow accused even as she greeted Varhog with a brilliant smile. Her dragon didn't deny it, and Willow laughed—which confused Varhog—then said aloud to him, "That was fun! Thanks for waiting up for us. I know Black Thunder could have arrived here far sooner. I don't want to swim yet. It's still too early, and I'm cold from flying so long. Let's climb the peaks and eat lunch up there near the spring. Is that agreeable to you?"

"Anything, Will—Eartheyes."

Willow giggled. "You can call me Willow if you prefer, Varhog. You usually don't though. That's why I noticed. Are you sure you're up for it? Sounds like you already did a fair amount of exercising this morning."

Varhog grinned. "I could run up to the top of the peaks and back down before you even reached that first knoll and still not be too tired to do it again. In fact, I think I will."

"Why? So you can show off?"

"No, to release some of this pent-up tension."

"Pent-up tension?" Willow repeated in concern. "Are you sure you're well?"

"Perfectly so," Varhog reassured. "Here, give me the pack. I'll see you in about twenty minutes."

"Very well," she reluctantly said, handing over the pack, which he immediately shouldered. She interpreted his strange fervor to mean that he didn't want to spend time with her.

Varhog seemed to notice her slightly hurt expression, for he quietly said, "Never mind, Willow. I'm sorry. You know there's no one else I would rather be with."

Willow bit her lip, hurriedly lowering her face as tears filled her eyes. She raised her eyebrows in surprised frustration and blinked rapidly for a few seconds, hoping no evidence remained when she returned her gaze to Varhog. "I used to know that, Yelloweyes. Lately I haven't been as sure. What happened to our comfortable friendship?"

Varhog surprised her by sweeping her into a tight embrace. "Willow," he said with gentle intensity. "Never doubt my affection for you. I will always be your friend." Willow thought she sensed an unspoken continuation to his statement that seemed to say, _And wish I could be so much more._

His embrace provoked numerous confusing and powerful emotions in Willow. _Only my friend?_ she wondered. _Then why hold me like this?_ Before that morning in her room, Varhog had never initiated such contact with her. Willow loved it just as much this time, feeling safe and warm in his arms. _Why do you hold back your feelings, dear friend? And why do I? We could once say whatever was on our mind without fear of negative repercussions._

Varhog released her soon after, though he didn't seem to want to. "Shall we go?"

"You really can go on ahead," Willow told him. "I'll be fine."

"Not a chance, Eartheyes."

"All right then," she said with a shrug. "Let's be off."

They began walking toward the foothills and chatting amiably for the most part, though each still mentally stewed over the dilemma before them. They were both completely unaware that the other was thinking about the same topic.

Varhog kept pace with her, and Willow moved swiftly, though not as quickly as he could have. By the top she was breathing heavily, and she removed her thick leather flying jacket to help her cool off.

"You really are in peak physical condition, aren't you, Yelloweyes?" she panted between breaths. "We may as well have walked from the kitchens to my room for how winded you are. Or aren't, rather. Oh well. I might have guessed as much if I had ever thought about it long enough. Surely you at least worked up an appetite."

"Always, Eartheyes. It seems I'm always hungry. I hope you packed a lot."

"It seemed like a lot to me, but maybe I underestimated. We've eaten together often enough—nearly every meal for the past seven years—that I ought to know how much it takes to fill you. I hope it will be sufficient." She looked out over the distant cliffs to the sea beyond. "Look at that view. It's breathtaking!"

"It is," he agreed, and Willow felt his eyes on her. She quickly glanced over and recognized admiration—deep admiration—in his face before he could turn away.

 _He thinks I'm beautiful,_ Willow nervously thought. _Breathtaking, even. That's the word I used, the one he agreed with while looking at me. And was that_ longing _in his eyes before he turned away? He_ does _want me!_

The nervousness evolved into a fluttering in her stomach, but Varhog completely changed the subject—at least, the topic Willow was obsessing about—by saying, "Your birthday is coming up, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's right," Willow replied, trying to focus her attention on this turn in the conversation. "Good memory, Yelloweyes."

"It's easy to remember," Varhog said. "It happens just before the anniversary of your arrival, and that's something I'll never forget."

"Why is that?" Willow wondered with affected innocence, though her eyes burned with keen knowing. _Please,_ she mentally begged Varhog, though she didn't actually send the thoughts to him. _Tell me how you feel._

Varhog was silent for a moment before answering, and Willow knew he was thinking something that he didn't voice aloud—something much more interesting than his actual words—when he responded, "Because life on the Isle was dismal before you came and your arrival was like a ray of bright sunshine in my dark world."

"I see," Willow casually said, looking away so he wouldn't notice the disappointment that filled her face. "The others have said much the same before. I should have known that's what you meant. Shall we eat?" By the time she glanced back at him, her expression was neutral.

-:-:-

What Varhog had been thinking when Willow suspected something was running through his mind was, _Because you changed me forever, beautiful woman, and I'm madly in love with you._ He could see that Willow knew he was withholding his true feelings from her and that she tried to hide her frustration by looking away.

In response to her suggestion that they begin eating, Varhog said, "Certainly," while sitting and pulling the pack around in front of him.

Willow knelt down a couple feet away and returned her gaze to the ocean. "I wonder if this is where Eragon and Arya were reunited. Somewhere around here. The cliffs would have been the first place Arya reached. Eragon was at the lake, so he wouldn't have been far. I wonder what that must have been like for them, especially him. He was so utterly desperate for her and completely despairing that she would never come and he would never get to be with her. It must have been sublimely, exquisitely beautiful to see her again and learn that her feelings had changed."

"I would imagine," Varhog said, perfectly understanding Firesword's desperation for Arya and despair that he would never get to be with her, since he felt exactly the same in his relationship with Willow. The ocean could not draw his attention away from Willow, and he stared at her with the same intensity with which she was observing the sea.

Varhog guessed that Willow could feel his fervent scrutiny, but she said nothing as she began eating. She ate silently for a time, and he sensed her unspoken invitation for him to broach the topic gnawing at his heart.

When he didn't—since he truly didn't know how to bring it up—Willow's eyes flitted to his and she reminded him, "You promised you would tell me about your family. How are your siblings and your mother doing?"

"My mother is doing well, though she is lonely and sad. She was the one who taught me how to keep my room tidy, so I suppose I have her to thank for your admiration earlier."

Willow smiled faintly. "Does she still miss your father?"

"Aye. Tremendously. And though I could be wrong, I think she might have some type of secret hope that my uncle, who has also lost his mate, will perhaps approach her. She has never said anything to me about it, though Myrin has occasionally mentioned it. I have simply guessed as much from my observations when they switch places in the scrying mirror."

"I see. Remind me where Myrin falls again."

"She is the sister right under me. We were always the closest. She's amazing. You'd like her, I think. My mother told me she's expecting her fourth cub now. Myrin is none too pleased that I have never returned to visit, though I could have."

" _Why_ haven't you, Yelloweyes? I've often wondered."

"The time never seemed right," Varhog evasively responded.

Willow looked away again. Varhog could clearly see that his deliberate avoidance of the truth was beginning to annoy her, but at the same time, her stubbornly defiant streak was becoming more and more determined not to bring it up herself and give him an easy out.

"Do you know how your other siblings are doing?" Willow asked in a voice of forced patience.

Varhog's mouth twitched at Willow's behavior. They knew each other so well, and it was very unlike them to hide their thoughts and feelings from each other, though Varhog knew he was the guilty one in this instance. He answered, "My older brother, Yarbog, now has five cubs. The two after Myrin have also taken mates and the next sister down, Naynuk, just had her third cub. So she now has two sons and a daughter. The brother under her, Bruntog, has a son and his mate is expecting their second. The youngest three are still single. Breetuk is doing well, but she misses me too."

"And she's the youngest, right?"

"That's right."

"No wonder she misses you if you showed her such kindness during family bathing time," Willow said with a teasing smile, and Varhog loved her all the more for continuing to be so sweet though she was obviously so frustrated with him. "You know, I'm jealous, Yelloweyes. I always longed to be part of a big family. I would love to meet them someday, though I suppose they wouldn't like some scrawny human girl."

"They would love you in time," Varhog confidently said.

"Is that so?" she returned. "What makes you so sure?"

Varhog grinned. "Everyone does, Willow."

"Hmmm," she mused. "Everyone? Even Urgals?"

He chuckled. She was clearly goading him into revealing more. "I do believe so," Varhog said. "Grintuk and I are just as fond of you as anyone else on the Isle."

"Of course," she shrewdly said. "So do you miss _them_? Your family?"

"Aye. I miss them greatly."

"Then you should visit them, Varhog," Willow earnestly implored. "I'm sure they _all_ miss you. I would, if you were anything like you are now back then. In fact, I _would_ miss you if you left, my friend." She touched his arm. "But that shouldn't stop you from going."

His mouth curved up slightly. "That's what has always stopped me from going before, Eartheyes," he seriously said. He noticed her unconsciously hold her breath in anticipation that he was _finally_ ready to tell her what she had been waiting to hear. "But not the idea that _you_ would miss _me_. _I_ would miss _you_ , Willow. I never had a friend like you in my village. I've never felt so comfortable with anyone, and no one has ever been able to make me laugh like you do."

It was something, but she still knew he was holding back, which Varhog clearly saw in her eyes and face as she pursed her lips. "Though I seem not to be able to as much lately. Have I done something to upset you, Varhog? Is something weighing on your mind?"

Varhog stared at her helplessly. She was giving him so many openings. Why couldn't he voice any of the countless emotions he felt? "You have never upset me, Willow," he quietly said. "And something _is_ weighing on my mind, but I have no idea how to discuss it with you."

"Why, Varhog? Once we could openly speak our minds without this hesitation."

"I know," he said. "But this, _this,_ seems impossible."

"So too would the idea that an Urgal ram and human female have become best friends," she patiently reminded him. "At least for the majority of every other member of our respective races. And yet, we have. Is it more impossible than that?"

"Aye," Varhog whispered. "Friends, Willow. We have become friends. But could we ever be more than that?"

She sat up straighter. "Do _you_ think we could?"

"I don't know what to think because I don't know what you think," he hopelessly said. "I know what I want—"

"What _do_ you want?" Willow interrupted.

 _You, Willow_ , Varhog thought with such fervency that he was sure she would be able to hear it. How he wanted to say, _I want you so desperately, my beautiful friend_. _I love you so much, Willow, my heart breaks every time I see you._ But he didn't. He silently stared at his hands, feeling her eyes leave him. Her discouragement was palpable. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them as she gazed back out toward the ocean.

"You needn't answer, Varhog," she murmured, two thin trails of tears appearing on her cheeks. "I understand. I'll wait until you're ready to express what's on your mind. But if it helps you at all, _I_ think it possible that we could be more than friends." She glanced over at him. "I _want_ to be more than friends."

Her last words were so quiet, Varhog wondered if he had imagined them into existence as words he had always desperately wished she would say, but he was sure her lips had moved. His heart broke as she hastily wiped the tears from her face, and he nearly confessed all of the tender feelings in his heart, but Willow then added, "It's hot up here right in the sun. I think I'm ready to swim. I'm going to have Sunset come up and carry me into the water." She quickly packed the empty containers back into the pack and took a big drink of water.

Varhog looked at her and didn't even try to hide his longing. "I'm sorry, Willow. I don't mean to cause you pain."

"I know, Yelloweyes. For now it's enough to know that I haven't upset you." She smiled, but Varhog could tell it wasn't as sincere as usual.

-:-:-

Sunset arrived then, and if Varhog had been preparing to say more, he lost his chance. Willow sprang up. _Do you want to swim too, Sunset?_

 _Yes, sunshine! I do. Will you take off my saddle?_

 _Gladly._ Willow unstrapped the saddle so swiftly and expertly that Varhog only had time to take it from her as she pulled it off Sunset's back. "Thank you, Yelloweyes. We'll just leave it up here and return for it before heading back to the city." She removed her boots and socks and braided her hair, then carefully climbed onto Sunset's back, moving on tiptoes so she could place her feet between sharp scales. Her dragon made it easier by stooping down as low as she could.

"Are you coming?"

"I'll be right behind you," Varhog promised as Black Thunder joined him on the peaks.

Willow gazed down at him a moment longer before tightly gripping Sunset's lowest neck spike and crying, _Let's go!_

-:-:-:-


	29. Discovery

**29\. Discovery**

Eragon's skin darkened as the days passed, since he and Arya were constantly unclothed under the brightness of the summer sun. The tan line he had jokingly pointed out the first morning was gone within a few days, for his skin tanned more easily and deeply than Arya's, though he noticed that her fair, honey-colored skin also took on a deeper, healthy glow.

One evening, after being gone nine days on their honeymoon, he asked, "And how long shall we carry on in this manner, my love? Not a care in the world, thoughts only for each other?"

"Forever?" Arya hopefully replied.

Eragon grinned. "If only it were possible."

"I suppose we could head back tomorrow," Arya finally said with unmistakable reluctance. "We can still find comfort in one another's arms in the city, just not all day every day."

"Perhaps a little tempering of this endless passion will be good," Eragon said. "I fear the novelty will wear off and you will grow tired of me."

"Never," Arya denied. "But I see the wisdom in your words nonetheless."

-:-:-

Arya drifted off to sleep in his arms as she had every night since coming to the Isle, content and joyful. Her waking dreams had been as full of Eragon as had her wakeful moments. And though she sometimes still experienced a recurrence of her frequent nightmare during their separation, it always ended well when she awoke and found his hands—and the rest of his body—touching her on every possible surface.

After a few hours of sleep, something fleeting and faint in Arya's dreams startled her, but she couldn't quite grasp it, though she unconsciously moved one hand over her abdomen. Then her eyes snapped open and she tried to recall why. What had she been dreaming about?

An insistent twinge within her body demanded her attention, but she couldn't identify it. It wasn't the ache of longing she felt for Eragon. No, this was something different, but what was it? Arya focused on the feeble pang and tried to locate it, finding that it originated in her lower abdomen near where she imagined her womb was. She then noticed the placement of her hand and froze as the impossible thought occurred to her.

Arya anxiously extended her awareness, mentally reaching toward that area of her body in search of anything different. Then she gasped as she recognized a bright spark of life within her womb. _It cannot be!_ she thought, stunned.

"Eragon!" she hissed under her breath. "Wake up!"

Since their waking dreams were not as deep as normal sleep, Eragon was immediately alert, and he tightened his arms protectively around her. "What is it, Arya?" he asked in concern. "Are you well?"

"I hardly know," Arya breathed. Sensing his confusion, she instructed, "Here, feel with your mind." She placed his hand where hers had been.

She opened her mind to his so she could feel his searching effort. When Eragon arrived at the area she indicated, he likewise froze. _It feels like a . . ._

 _Life,_ she finished. _A new life. A child!_ And then because she couldn't resist, Arya joyfully repeated, "Our child!" and threw her arms around his neck.

-:-:-

Eragon was dumbstruck. He fixed his mind on the speck of energy within Arya's body, which was undeniably alive—as brilliant and blinding as any tiny insect he had ever studied, though many times smaller and brighter even than that. Finally he asked, "Is it possible? When did you discover this?"

"Just now when I woke you. I felt it come to life the moment I searched for it. No, now that I think about it, it was already alive and developing, but I only noticed it then because it was burrowing into my womb and becoming a part of me, so it can safely grow until it is ready to be born." Tears of joy streamed down Arya's face, and she laughed through them. "We're going to have a baby, Eragon! So soon you have fulfilled one of my dearest wishes."

Eragon could feel Arya's total fascination with the tiny life inside of her, and he shared her awe as they felt it grow and develop so infinitesimally, though it was unquestionably changing.

Eragon smiled as Arya gushed, _Every moment brings me closer to the one where I will get to cradle our child in my arms._

Eragon couldn't help but allow Arya's joy to shape his initial disbelief into cautious amazement. "But how is it possible so soon? We have only been married just over a week! Did you notice the changes within your body that would have been necessary for this to take place?"

Arya wonderingly shook her head. "I was so preoccupied being with you, my husband. I was already experiencing so many new sensations, new aches and pleasures. I hardly would have noticed a fluid different from yours, as abundantly as it has been inside of me since our marriage. These changes must have begun the moment of our first union for this to be happening now. It takes at least a week for the fertilized egg to journey to the womb, developing all the while until it is ready to join the mother's body for the rest of its growth."

Eragon furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of it. "And to think we were so recently concerned this might never be. Now we have proven that an elf and a human truly can conceive a child. Already we have overcome the impossible and emerged victorious. We're unstoppable."

Arya laughed and suddenly exclaimed, "Angela's gift! Do you think it's possible she could have known? But how? There is more to her than meets the eye. Did you not sense that she was hinting at something terribly important when she gave us those baby clothes?"

"Aye," Eragon agreed, remembering that exact feeling. "But I couldn't possibly guess at what." After a moment of basking in Arya's pure joy, he said, "Well, congratulations, my love. I'm so happy for you, for us, I can hardly think of an expression befitting it."

Arya smiled at him and it was so breathtakingly happy, it transformed her. She looked divine. "Thank you, Eragon," she breathed. "I am seeing that there is more to the power of faith than I have ever before believed. It could not be coincidence that we were brought together or that this new life was just the result of lucky chance. No, that could not be."

The conviction of her words strengthened Eragon's. "It seems the power of practiced faith truly is great enough to produce miracles," he observed, and Arya nodded her fervent agreement. "And I think we may have just discovered the _one_ thing with the power to take your focus and desire off of me long enough for us to return to the city," he playfully added.

Arya guiltily glanced up from her womb.

"That is as it should be, Arya," Eragon reassured. "I've had my fair share of your tender love this week. Our child deserves your attention and love as much as I."

"No, not quite as much, for you have given me this gift, my darling," Arya whispered. "You'll always hold first place in my heart, but it seems my capacity to love has only swelled, taking nothing away from my love for you and increasing immeasurably at the same time."

Eragon smiled at that image and thought he could feel something of the swelling she described. A tender affection began blossoming inside of him for this tiny life that _he_ had helped create. It subtracted nothing from his love for Arya but instead seemed only to augment it.

Eragon pulled her against his chest, and she nestled there contentedly, though her hands and her thoughts never left her abdomen, which Eragon felt with their minds touching. When they had drifted off to sleep a few hours earlier, Arya didn't think it possible that her joy could be any fuller, but she saw that she had been wrong. Her joy now upon discovering that she would be one of the honored few elves to bear a child was so immense that Arya felt she might burst. Eragon smiled at her thoughts and added his mental agreement. Keeping their minds linked, they marveled at their creation for many hours, and Eragon wondered if the awe of their discovery would keep sleep from finding them again before morning arrived.


	30. News

**30\. News**

Eragon and Arya did fall back to sleep before dawn and slept until long past morning. They awakened at the same time just before midday, as they had their first morning after getting married. But this time Arya's stomach grumbled loudly in complaint.

She opened her eyes in surprise and found their hands exactly as they had been—protectively and lovingly over her womb.

Eragon murmured in her ear, "That's unusual. I've never heard your stomach rumble more loudly than mine."

"Nor have I," she replied, a happy smile spreading across her face. "Can it be possible that I am already feeling the increased demand of growing a baby?" She paused to consider it and, upon deciding that must be the case, added, "How wonderful!"

They ate swiftly, now wishing to return to city so they could share their joyful news with Saphira and Fírnen, Willow and Murtagh, indeed, anyone who would care to listen.

They were actually not far from the stronghold, as they had only run about ten minutes before Arya demanded they stop. Then they had walked slightly farther to the stream, which is where they had remained, finding the nearness of the water convenient.

They had often seen dragons flying overhead during their honeymoon but never minded much. Everyone could have easily guessed what they were up to, and Eragon and Arya weren't ashamed. If they ever spotted someone when they truly did not wish to be observed, they simply made themselves invisible with magic, which resulted in some interesting and humorous intimate exchanges.

They bathed once more in the pool, anticipating a warmer bath before long. After drying themselves with magic to save time, they quickly donned their clothing, both agreeing it felt foreign and chaffing after over a week of not wearing anything.

And then they were off, walking hand in hand toward the city, ready to return but also enjoying the last moments of their honeymoon.

"We should tell Saphira and Fírnen first," Eragon suggested. "They were very concerned about you after that day." He knew Arya understood him.

"Certainly," she agreed. "I suppose we will also tell Angela."

"Aye, though I'm apprehensive what her reaction will be. She seemed so insistent about it."

"But it's difficult to imagine that she would react badly."

Before long they could see the city, and they reached with their minds in search of Saphira and Fírnen. Their dragons were near and swiftly flew toward them, anxious to be reunited.

Once they had landed, Eragon and Arya each took a moment to greet their dragons individually. Eragon pressed his forehead to Saphira's snout, while Arya hugged herself against Fírnen's smooth belly.

 _I didn't get in trouble while we were apart, Saphira,_ Eragon teased. _At least, not in the way you always once thought I did. I suppose this was the first time we were apart at all in the past ten years, wasn't it?_

Saphira rumbled her amusement. _Yes, but neither of us was lonely._ _What sort of trouble_ did _you get into?_

 _Only the very best kind,_ Eragon assured her. _We have some news._

As planned, Arya finished, _I am with child!_

Their dragons' disbelief was promptly replaced by rejoicing as they trumpeted and roared their approval. Saphira released a stream of blue fire into the sky before tenderly thinking, _Little ones,_ _I am so happy for you. There was nothing to fear after all._

 _No, nothing,_ Arya agreed.

 _Perhaps this is the appropriate time to share our news then,_ Fírnen proudly rumbled, _in hopes of adding to your joy, not outdoing you. Saphira will be a mother! Even now an egg develops within her body._

Arya clapped her hands together and delightedly crowed, _How marvelous!_

 _Saphira, that's wonderful!_ Eragon was so overjoyed he almost shouted, knowing how important this was to Saphira. For the first year of her life, she had believed she was the only remaining dragon save Shruikan and that her race would never again be mighty. Her advances on Glaedr had left her embarrassed and frustrated. Now she too would have one of her deepest wishes fulfilled. Eragon jumped up, hugging her large head as tears filled his eyes for her happiness.

 _Thank you, little one. My joy is full. I did not know how to tell you this without worrying it would cause you pain and be a reminder of something you might not also enjoy. But now we will become parents together!_ She hummed happily against his chest.

Tears of joy once again streamed down Arya's face, and she laughed. _I keep surprising myself. Just when I think I surely couldn't be any happier and that I would explode if I felt any more joy, I suddenly feel more joy and it only makes my heart expand._

 _My feelings exactly,_ Eragon agreed.

They resumed their walk toward the city as Saphira and Fírnen flew. When they arrived, no welcoming party awaited them. Everyone was going about their duties as if it was a regular day, unaware of just how special it was for Eragon and Arya.

They first sought out Murtagh, Willow, and Blödhgarm. Murtagh whooped at the news and clapped Eragon on the back while squeezing Arya with an arm around her shoulders.

Willow squealed and jumped up and down. She gave them each a joyful hug then repeated her reaction again. Varhog was with her, and he offered a quiet congratulations.

Blödhgarm was the most appreciative of just how momentous their news was. He raised his shaggy eyebrows in astonishment and solemnly regarded them. "Congratulations, Shadeslayers," he formally said. "That is truly most amazing." And then he bowed.

Once he had left them, Arya burst out laughing. "He seems so formal after how casual I have been. Was I once that way?"

"Once perhaps, though your time with the Varden must have softened your proper behavior somewhat," Eragon mildly replied, innocently adding, "These past couple of weeks might also have helped."

Arya smiled up at him, and at that very moment, neither of them was surprised to see Angela hurrying toward them.

"So you're back, Shadeslayers," Angela declared, beaming at them with a knowing wink. "And how was your honeymoon?"

Eragon laughed. "It was wonderful, as I'm sure you well know, since you usually know something about everything going on."

Angela smiled mysteriously. "But of course, my dear boy!"

"And since you virtually predicted it with your precious gift," Arya interjected, "I am sure you must know this too, but I will tell you anyway, for nothing makes me happier. We are expecting a child!"

Angela's face fell, her eyes betraying deep fear. "So soon?" she fretted. "Even _I_ didn't expect that."

Eragon and Arya glanced at each other in surprise at her reaction, not understanding why she was so clearly unhappy. "But why do you say this, wise one?" Arya implored. "Surely you are keeping something from us to seem so afraid at this news?"

"Aye, Arya Shadeslayer," Angela solemnly agreed. "But I will keep it from you no longer. It is time you understood some of my secrets. Come. I have a story to tell."


	31. Story

**31\. Story**

Angela took them each by one hand and pulled them along with her to a comfortable corner of the Great Hall, which was currently empty. Eragon and Arya sat next to one another in a loveseat with their hands joined, and Angela sat across from them.

Without further ado Angela began: "Once upon a time there was a lovely elven maid who lived in the eastern woods of Du Weldenvarden. She was kind and gentle and lived alone, since she had been orphaned when young and had no other family. But she did not mind, for she loved the woods and the creatures of the forest.

"She loved plants and grew herself a beautiful meadow full of flowers and herbs, trees and shrubs. The woodland creatures often kept her company in her peaceful, happy sanctuary. The maiden's name was Ellei-an and though happy, she grew lonely as the years slowly turned.

"It so happened that a young dwarf lad and his mother arrived in the vicinity of her secluded woodland home. They had fled the constant violence of the current dwarf clan war in the south, seeking peace and quiet in the woods of Du Weldenvarden. The lad's name was Gelarik, and he was brave and strong.

"Though at first Gelarik and his mother missed the security of the mountains, they came to love the forest, particularly Gelarik, for he one day discovered Ellei-an's secret meadow while hunting. The animals fled there for safety, seeking protection from his bow.

"Gelarik stealthily followed them and spied Ellei-an tending her meadow. He was immediately captivated by her grace and beauty and determined he would do anything for her if he could only win her heart.

"Ellei-an sensed the fear of her frequent companions and asked them what could have caused such terror. They told her there was a fearsome hunter after them, and she then spotted Gelarik with his bow.

"They did not know one another's languages, but her rage was evident enough, and she commanded him to leave her brethren of the forest in peace. Gelarik understood her meaning and vowed he would never harm another living creature if it pleased this beautiful, mysterious woman.

"He returned to the meadow every day, humbly seeking only to observe and learn from her, since he had no knowledge of plants and herbs or which he could eat now that he would not partake of animal flesh. Ellei-an wanted nothing to do with this horrible, short killer, but he was so patient and meek that she reluctantly tolerated his company, communicating by action rather than word what he could eat.

"Gradually—so gradually that she failed to see it happening until it already had—Ellei-an's reluctance at the company of the dwarf changed to anticipation. She looked forward to his regular call and found herself enjoying his companionship more and more as they learned to communicate in one another's native tongues.

"In time they spoke mostly the ancient language. It was more graceful, and Gelarik loved to hear Ellei-an speak it, for he knew when she did that she only spoke truth. Ellei-an's anticipation of his daily visit turned to delight, and her joy at having the company of another person filled her lonely heart. They became dear friends, but Gelarik wished for more.

"After many years, Gelarik expressed his wishes and confessed his love for Ellei-an. She was not upset, as she would have been in the beginning, but she still laughed at him and dismissed his desires as foolish, for who could imagine a dwarf and an elf in love?

"Gelarik saw that the time was not right, so he patiently waited without further pressing the matter, continuing to court Ellei-an in his own way. He introduced her to his mother, and the old woman soon loved the joyful maid as much as did her son. They all enjoyed a happy companionship together in the forest.

"Many more years passed, and Gelarik slowly began to age, as dwarves do, though more gradually than humans. All the while Ellei-an remained youthful. Her gratefulness for Gelarik's faithful friendship had developed into something deeper, and when next he expressed his love and adoration of her and his desire to be with her as her husband, much to his astonishment and delight, she accepted. Ellei-an found that she wanted nothing more than to be with this kind, patient, gentle dwarf who had brought such happiness to her heart.

"As unlikely as it was, theirs was an epic romance. He loved her so greatly and cherished her so deeply, even as she did him. After many years of thus being together, when Gelarik's elderly mother was swiftly approaching her grave, the unlikeliest thing of all happened—Ellei-an found herself expecting Gelarik's child.

"This was a time of immense joy and excitement for them. Nothing like this had ever before been known, since the union of an elf and a dwarf is the most dubious possibility imaginable for most, given the differences and sometimes enmity between their races. Gelarik's aging mother seemed to recover some vigor and will to live at the news she would have a grandchild. They planned and prepared for the joyous birth of this most welcome baby, remaining at the home of Gelarik's mother to care for her and keep her company.

"When the child was due to be born, Ellei-an and Gelarik returned to her meadow to enjoy the peaceful birth of their baby in the place most special to them both, the place where they had first met many decades before.

"The child was born—a daughter—but no one knows how the birth went or what her adoring parents thought. After more time had passed than seemed necessary, the impatient grandmother went in search of her son and daughter-in-law to confirm that they were well.

"To her great dismay, she found the baby alone in the meadow, naked and crying, apparently abandoned by the parents who had so loved and wanted her. There was no evidence of a struggle, no clue as to what had become of Ellei-an and Gelarik. They had simply vanished, leaving their infant daughter behind to be raised by her grandmother.

"And her grandmother did the best she could, given her advanced age. She treasured this small girl, her only reminder of the son and daughter she had so dearly loved. But she had already defied death for too long, and the old grandmother realized that the girl would soon need a new guardian.

"Before it was too late, she set off in search of the humans. The girl, who was part elf and part dwarf, most resembled the other race completely, since she had received her father's round ears and full face. It was a desperate search, for the grandmother knew she must quickly find someone to care for the child before death found her. Ellei-an and Gelarik's love was so secluded within the forest that no one had ever known about it. Who would believe her if she presented the child to either race and claimed her heritage to be what it was?

"She knew her time was short, but she eventually found a man whom she felt she could trust and who was familiar with magic, which seemed important, for the girl had inherited that gift from her mother, along with her love of plants and herbs. The girl was still young at ten years of age but was old enough to understand the importance of this placement. Her grandmother lived with them until her death some months later and was buried in stone, as is the custom of the dwarves.

"And the child, who never knew her parents, still carried something of each of them, as shared by her grandmother before her passing. She had her mother's dark hair and her father's tight curls. Her stature was small next to an elf, closer to that of a dwarf. And she also kept their names alive in her own as a reminder of how she had come to be, even by the blessed union of Ellei-an and Gelarik. Angela."

And then she was done.

Arya and Eragon had listened in rapt fascination during the tale, especially as it progressed and they began to guess its true meaning. They leaned forward in suspense as the end drew nigh. At Angela's final words, Arya gasped and Eragon whispered, "No!"

But Angela only nodded solemnly. "And so you now see that I am the only child in known history to be produced by the union of a dwarf and an elf. An unlikely union to be sure, would you not agree, Arya?"

Arya nodded mutely, still trying to comprehend the vast implications of Angela's true background.

"When did this happen?" Eragon managed. "How old are you?"

"My mother and father met over seven hundred years ago. I am just over six hundred and fifty years old," Angela seriously replied, no hint of her usual secretive manner to cause Eragon to mistrust her.

"It cannot be!" Arya breathed. "And what of your parents? No one ever found out?"

"My grandmother was the only other living being who knew of their marriage, unless you count the woodland creatures. She shared with me what I have shared with you before she died so I would understand my background, but she besought me to keep it secret and guard it carefully. There are too many unanswered questions for this to be common knowledge. I have dedicated most of the years of my very long life to finding answers and solving this mystery. If there was one thing my grandmother did not doubt, it was that my parents wanted me most desperately, and she believed they would not have lightly abandoned me. She never understood how it could happen that they would just vanish into thin air."

"Oh no!" Arya cried, wringing her hands as she at last understood why Angela had seemed so unhappy and fearful about the news that she was expecting. "This is heavy indeed! The parents of the only other known child born to a couple of different races just disappeared without a trace, leaving their helpless infant behind."

Angela sighed sadly. "I'm so sorry, Arya and Eragon. I never wished to ruin the joy of this moment, but I had to at least warn you. Though I have never discovered what truly occurred at the time of my birth and therefore have no way of knowing whether something terrible happened to my parents, I fear you may be in grave danger."


	32. Secrets

**32\. Secrets**

Eragon and Arya sat in rigid shock as they tried to grasp Angela's incredible story and what it might mean for them.

When neither Arya nor Eragon broke the silence, Angela said, "Haven't you ever wondered why I often seemed to be wherever you were, Eragon, after we met in Teirm and I read your fortune? I told you it was because I liked to be where interesting things were happening so I could know what was going on, which was partly true, but the most interesting thing to me was that _you_ had fallen in love with an elf.

"After I heard you rescued Arya—I knew she was the daughter of a queen and therefore a very likely candidate for your epic romance with one of noble birth—I had to see if things would go anywhere in case the impossible happened, which it most certainly has. Now you are here and married and expecting a child."

"But . . . but how . . . ?" Eragon struggled to articulate any of his countless questions. Finally he managed, "How _do_ you always seem to know everything, what's happening at any given time in dozens of places?"

"That's easy," Angela replied. "Solembum."

They stared at her blankly.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Angela fussed. "Don't you two know anything about werecats? They're a deeply magical race, even as the dragons. They have the ability to communicate telepathically with any other werecat, no matter where they are, no matter how great the distance. And there are werecats _everywhere_ , though people often believe they are rare. In their animal form, they do not appear much different from a large, shaggy housecat. And, as you know, they can also take on a human form when desired. They are masters of disguise and are spread out across all of Alagaёsia, guarding their secrets most zealously. They're also immortal like the dragons, though they can be killed by violent measures.

"Solembum is to me what Saphira is to you, Eragon, or Fírnen to you, Arya. He was crouching protectively next to me when my grandmother discovered me after my birth. Whether a formal bond happened as with the Riders or he just took it upon himself to be my protector, he has remained with me ever since. In time he gave me access to his mind and shared some of the secrets of his race. He can speak to or hear the minds of any member of his race whenever he wishes, and they all keep each other abreast of the most important events of the land. This is how they came to join the Varden at the moment they did." Angela paused for a moment, absently pulling some needlework out of the pouch tied around her waist.

Then, after busying her hands with the project, she continued, "I have asked Solembum before if he knows of the events surrounding my birth since he was there right after. He assured me he doesn't, and I believe him, for werecats cannot lie. He told me that he heard a weak mewling and went to discover what it was. The werecats are very curious, which is one of the reasons they come to know so much.

"He found me, a small infant of unprecedented origin. The cats know of all the races, and I was not of any he knew. He could see I was alone and helpless but could sense I was special, since he already understood my mind to a degree, so he stayed by my side until my grandmother came. He was sure someone of such unusual background would have an interesting life, one the werecats would want to be aware of, and I think because he might have felt a sense of protectiveness for me.

"At any rate, he is how I know what goes on all the time. He simply tells me what he learns, what he thinks would be important for me to know, from all he is constantly learning from other werecats spread throughout the land."

"Incredible," Arya breathed.

"But he did tell me that when he arrived at the scene of my birth he felt the undeniable, tangible traces of magic, as if some spiritual experience had occurred and left its mark. He was most curious as to what could have caused such a powerful effect that it lingered in such a manner after it was over."

Arya's despair of a moment before had disappeared, and she sat calmly with her hands on her lap. Once Angela was finished, she said, "Thank you for sharing this with us, Angela. I cannot deny that it is troubling, yet I refuse to believe that something awful will befall us at the birth of this child. It is too much of a miracle for me to believe it happened only to end in tragedy. I will cling to the hope that your parents had some choice in the matter of their fate, as pure as was their love, as good as they were. There _must_ have been some reason they left, and I will do all I can to help you uncover this secret before my time to have this baby arrives. But I will not forsake my belief that Eragon and I and this child are meant to be together as a family, and I refuse to let it ruin my enjoyment of this most blessed time in my life, one I have so long and dearly desired."

At the conclusion of Arya's speech, Angela set her knitting aside to stand up and give her an embrace. "Good!" Angela exclaimed. "Because you _should_ enjoy it, and you both deserve this happiness more than any other two people I have ever known, as much as you overcame and sacrificed for the good of others and the entire world. As for your other promise, that you would help me uncover the secret of my parents' disappearance before your baby is born. . . . Well, I can't see how we would be able to learn much more than I have in nearly six hundred years, but it never hurts to try, right?" And she laughed weakly as she took up her needlework again.

Eragon sat stiffly as he listened to this exchange, finally joining with, "Arya, are you sure this is right? To travel who knows where to uncover mysteries that have remained unsolved for centuries? And all while you have a child growing within you? Where would we even begin?"

Arya took his hands. "I know you worry for me, Eragon, but I cannot sit idly by and wonder if I will lose you or our baby at the most excruciating time, even the moment of its birth. I must at least _try_ to learn something of what we might expect, if anything. There must be some clue, something to guide us. The Eldunarí may well prove useful, for some of them remember thousands of years of history. So our starting point need not be anywhere distant."

Eragon searched her eyes and sighed in defeat. He could see that Arya was determined and had already made her choice, so there was no reason for him to continue arguing. He must support her in this. "If there is a chance we will never see them again, I would like to visit some family and friends in Alagaёsia in the time we have. It sounds as if this journey may take us there anyway. Would you be open to that?"

"Of course, darling," Arya said.

"Though I truly thought I would never return," Eragon mused, returning his attention to Angela. "Thanks to your fortune."

"Fortunes," Angela dismissed with a wave of her knitting needle. "They mean very little. So much could change with one seemingly insignificant choice. Take you and Arya for example. I foretold you would have an epic romance with one of noble birth, though I couldn't see whether it would end well. Last month did you ever think you would be where you are right this moment, with your lovely wife expecting your child?" Eragon emphatically shook his head. "And even before, when you still _were_ in Alagaёsia, would you have ever categorized your relationship with Arya as an epic romance? That you loved her was obvious to most everyone who knew you, and your friendship led you to your greatest triumph, but she never openly returned your regard. I would hardly call _that_ an epic romance. And yet in one small though significant choice, all of that changed when Arya decided to come here. You truly _did_ leave Alagaёsia with the intention of never returning, and so you fulfilled the foretelling. Now, however, circumstances have changed and so has your determination. Just like that," she clacked the two needles together, "back to Alagaёsia you will go. Which, in my opinion, is as it should be. The Dragon Riders are tied to Alagaёsia as irrevocably as you are to Saphira, Shadeslayer. I believe it will be a very good thing for you to go back. Very good indeed."

Eragon thoughtfully considered her words. "I hope you are right, Angela. May we have some time to discuss this and decide on a course of action?" he asked. "We will apprise you of any plans we make once we have. Or you can just send Solembum."

Angela smiled warily. "Of course, Shadeslayer. I do not expect you to do this for me. That was never my intention in telling you. I meant only to warn you that you might expect something to occur when your child was born, no more. And I suppose in doing that, I also drew you in to my lifelong mystery at the same time. I am sorry again," she remorsefully finished, sadness once again filling her eyes.


	33. Comfort

**33\. Comfort**

Eragon and Arya were silent and pensive as he guided her by the hand toward his room. Once they arrived, Eragon immediately noticed that his small bed, which had barely been big enough for his large frame, had been replaced by a larger one that would comfortably fit them both.

"That was thoughtful," he said, explaining his meaning to Arya.

They bathed together in the basin in the floor of his washroom. Arya insisted on washing his hair to return the favor as she had promised in the woods, taking her time to gently massage his head as he reclined in the water.

When she was done, Eragon thanked her. "That did feel most enjoyable," he murmured. Then they dried off and lay next to each other on the bed. In a gesture of desperate sadness, Eragon gently touched her body, trying to memorize every part of it.

"What is it, Eragon?" Arya softly asked.

"I can't bear this, Arya," he anxiously whispered. "We might only have a limited time together, and the uncertainty is agonizing."

"Eragon, do not despair. No matter how hopeless our situation seems after Angela's story, I will not give in to doubt. Even if we don't learn anything before our baby is born that will help us understand what might happen, I refuse to believe that we will be parted against our wills. Not after all that has happened to bring us together and to bring this baby into existence. Perhaps this is some kind of final impossible test we must pass before we will at last be victorious."

Eragon closed his eyes, willing himself to believe and find comfort in her words. But he failed, and tears started streaming down his cheeks, escaping his eyes against his will. Arya pulled his face to her chest, holding it there as she soothingly stroked his hair.

-:-:-

Arya understood why Eragon was so downcast, but she didn't share his conviction that something terrible would happen. After conceiving a child with him against all odds, she truly believed that nothing was too large for them to overcome. She felt that things would somehow work out if she and Eragon trusted in each other and kept moving forward, which was the very reasoning he had used with her before. Why couldn't he see it?

"This is no different from what you told me before," Arya attempted again. "When we thought we might lose each other because we wouldn't be able to have a family and that staying together in spite of that was selfish. You reminded me that it was just another example of having to face overwhelming odds while trusting that a solution would present itself. And even if nothing did, we decided that we wouldn't give in to the unacceptable alternatives, just as we never did before. And see how true your words proved to be? The once impossible idea of conceiving a child was overcome so easily, so quickly. Please, Eragon. I couldn't bear it if this entire pregnancy was a time of desperation and grief for you. _Please_ promise me that you will enjoy it with me."

Eragon didn't move his face from her chest as he promised, "I'll do my best, Arya. But it may take me some time. Be patient with me."

"That is the least I can do after how long-suffering _you_ have been," she murmured.

Eragon remained in his position for so long without moving that Arya began to think he had fallen asleep. Though she didn't feel tired, she tried to relax and get comfortable enough to also sleep when he began stroking her again, his hand lingering everywhere he touched.

Arya couldn't suppress the feelings it excited, but she was unsure what Eragon would desire in his current emotional state. "Would you seek comfort in my arms?" she formally asked, wishing it didn't sound so proper but unable to think of a different way to phrase it.

" _Can_ I?"

"What do you mean?" She was confused why Eragon would emphasize his question in such a manner.

"I mean . . . is it safe? For the child? Would I harm it?"

Comprehension dawned on her. "Of course it's safe," Arya reassured, relieved to understand his reluctance. "The baby won't be harmed. It is safe and protected within my womb, which has sealed itself off to prevent the entrance of anything during the pregnancy. The baby is beginning to be surrounded by a warm sea of fluid that will cushion it. Did you honestly think I would be able to go nine months without enjoying your love in that way? I suppose you truly did. I'm sorry for mocking you."

Eragon also seemed relieved. "I was trying to prepare myself for the dismal possibility," he admitted. "Although having now tasted how sweet your love is, I think nine months would have seemed like ninety years. I'm sure I heard some mention of it growing up, some superstitious notion that such relations could be unlucky or potentially harmful during a pregnancy. Many a man in the village regretted the news that his wife had conceived, knowing it would mean an enforced period of abstinence for him."

"That is unfortunate indeed," Arya said. "There may be some cases where a woman with poor health or a history of lost pregnancies would need to exercise caution, at least for the first part of her pregnancy. But for a healthy, strong woman, there is no need for such self-denial."

"But what about as the baby grows?" Eragon insisted. "How will we manage then with your expanding womb?"

"I suppose we will only be limited by our creativity," Arya replied. "Intimate relations can occur right up until the moment before the baby's birth if a couple desires. Some even believe it is helpful for the laboring mother, as it can relax and assist her womb in its effort of opening."

Arya was grateful to see that their conversation had piqued Eragon's interest, which seemed to momentarily take his mind from where it had been. "Is that so? Well, I'm glad to hear it. You said nine months. Is that how long the baby will grow? It's the same as with humans?"

"Yes, the gestational period is nine months in humans, dwarves, elves, and even Urgals," Arya confirmed. "Although, to the careful observer, a pregnancy is more accurately measured in weeks than in months. Most humans are not aware of when the moment of conception occurs since they are uneducated about their bodies and the changes it undergoes. The most noticeable event of the female reproductive cycle is called menstruation, which refers to the time of actual bleeding."

Eragon interrupted her here with, "Why _does_ that happen? I have always wondered. It seems so messy and unpleasant from what little I know of it."

Arya smiled. "Yes, I can see how it would be viewed that way with no understanding of what is occurring in the body in between. Do you remember what I told you a few weeks ago?"

Eragon nodded that he still did recall her lesson. "The menstrual bleeding is the sign that a pregnancy did not occur," Arya went on. "The woman's body prepared her womb for conception by creating an area capable of receiving and nourishing a fertilized egg. That is done by reinforcing her womb, mainly with extra blood. If the effort to prepare for conception is not met with conception, the body sheds the excess blood and begins the cycle anew. So the bleeding is actually the end of a cycle though, since it is the most recognizable event, it is often marked as the beginning."

Eragon raised his eyebrows. "As unlikely as it is, I'm actually fascinated by how logical this all is. The so-called mysteries of the female body are not so mysterious after all. Everything seems to be designed so flawlessly."

"Yes," Arya agreed before continuing, "So most measure the length of a pregnancy by remembering the beginning of the woman's last menstrual flow and by determining that she did not have another menstrual flow when expected approximately one month later. What they don't realize is that the pregnancy did not in actuality begin until a couple of weeks later, when the egg was actually released and fertilized after ovulation.

"From that point, another week to ten days pass before the fertilized egg reaches the woman's womb and implants itself there. That was the moment we noticed. So by most methods of reckoning, I am already three weeks pregnant out of a total of about forty weeks, though as you can see, for two of those weeks the woman actually is not pregnant. Since we are able to sense the energy of the baby with our minds, we have discovered our success far earlier than most. The most attentive humans would not likely notice pregnancy until some weeks from now. So it will seem closer to nine and a half months for us."

"Which means . . ." Eragon trailed off thoughtfully, and Arya knew exactly what he was doing.

"That our baby will be born sometime in the early spring," she finished, having already long since figured it out herself.

"That's wonderful," Eragon said, smiling at her. "Imagining myself as a father is so strange. I think I have always wanted the chance to do a better job of it than I experienced in my own life, although I'm grateful for all Garrow was to me and understand the necessity of Brom's actions."

"You will be a wonderful father, Eragon," Arya said, returning his smile. "Nothing makes me happier than picturing you with our baby. Do you think it will be a son or a daughter?"

"Hmmm, I hadn't thought of that yet. I think I would be delighted if it were either, though it's fun to imagine a tiny little Arya running around. Will we be able to know with our minds before the child is born?"

"I don't see why not," Arya replied. "Although part of me thinks it would be more exciting to wait until the moment of birth to discover it. I like to picture a strapping young Eragon."

Eragon turned his face to kiss the skin right under his lips, which was just above her breast. "So about a few minutes ago?" he hopefully reminded. "I no longer want to ignore the temptation of your naked body right in front of me."

"Mmmm, yes," Arya murmured, sliding down toward him. "I hoped you hadn't forgotten."

"Forgotten?" Eragon scoffed, but then her lips were on his and she didn't allow him to speak again for some time.


	34. Understatement

**34\. Understatement**

A while later, Eragon felt relaxed and satisfied as Arya snuggled next to him. How could such a pure expression of love—the very thing that had led to the creation of their child's life—lead to misery and heartache? He didn't see how it could. All seemed right with the world again, and Eragon decided to trust Arya that everything would work out in the end, just as she had trusted him in a similar moment of hopelessness.

"I'm so glad I was mistaken in thinking we wouldn't be able to do that for nine months," Eragon remarked.

"Indeed," Arya agreed. "And though I had nothing to compare it to before and would never change our honeymoon for anything, _that_ was more comfortable on a bed."

Eragon laughed as she drew her leg on top of him and began running her fingers through his chest hair, using her fingernails to create swirling patterns.

Eragon approvingly murmured, "That feels really good. I'm glad I don't have to ask you to stop anymore." He traced similar patterns along her thigh where it was resting across his body.

" _That_ feels really good," Arya echoed with a smile, turning her face to kiss his shoulder. She changed the movements of her fingers to trace all the lines of muscle on his torso. "I love your body," she added as her fingers reached his abdomen where the hair was sparser. "Though I know it sounds foolish to say."

"It's still hard for me to get used to that, no matter how many times you have told me in word or deed," Eragon replied. "I have never thought of myself as appealing to a female."

"I suppose I'm glad of it. I wouldn't like you so well if you were vain and arrogant."

Eragon smiled. "It's strange being together like this, just lying in one another's arms without a care in the world. Only a month ago I was a stern, humorless Dragon Rider trainer and you were queen of the elves."

"Yes, all responsibility and no fun," Arya said. "Now it is just the opposite. I think I prefer this way, though perhaps we have let the pendulum swing too far. I would welcome the chance to see what life on the Isle is like for a Rider, though as your wife, it will hardly be the same experience for me as for another Rider arriving here for training. But I think I can live with the differences." She smiled again and lifted her head, resting her chin on her hand so she could see him.

Eragon stuffed another pillow under his head so he could also see her better. Arya raised her free hand to his face and took up the lazy exploration again, only this time on his cheek and jaw where he had over a week's growth of facial hair.

"This is becoming quite the beard," she observed.

"I never thought about it, and you didn't ask me to remove it, so it just grew," Eragon said. "What do you think of it now that it has passed the prickly phase?"

"I rather like it like this. It's such a nice color—darker than your hair—and grows in such an even pattern. It also tickles when you kiss me in certain places." She laughed lightly as Eragon chuckled. "But I'm not sure I would like it as a full-length beard. Can you keep it trimmed so it hugs your jaw?"

"I'm sure I could come up with something. A modification of my current spell, similar to what I use to trim my hair," Eragon answered, jutting his chin out and rubbing it against her cheek. "If you ever wish for me to remove it, you have but to ask. It only takes a moment, though you wouldn't want to be near, especially with it this length. The hair would fall all over you and be far from ticklish, I'm afraid. I once removed it after I had already dressed, and the hair was terribly itchy. I finally just had to change." He laughed sheepishly at the memory, and so did Arya.

"I don't remember you being so playful and lighthearted in all the time we spent together in Alagaёsia," she commented.

"No, I certainly wasn't," Eragon agreed. "I always felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of the expectations upon me and of my burden to face Galbatorix, at which I felt sure I would fail. Not to mention all of the rulers of races I held obligations to. But with you my restraints were of a different nature. I felt that I must always be careful not to say too much or let on how I felt, since I was sure to offend you and receive a rebuke at the same time."

"I am sorry about that, Eragon," Arya apologized. "I was thinking about how difficult that must have been for you when Willow was helping me with my hair. She noticed my ring, so I told her about that night you created my lily and the spirits transformed it. She thought it was so romantic, and I'm ashamed to admit that it was the first time I realized just how romantic it was. Although that night also marked one of the few times I remember you laughing long and loud, when you thought of the expression 'gilded the lily'."

"It must have been much-needed comic relief. The memories of death and bloodshed constantly haunted me during those long months. That was a special night in more ways than one."

"I remember what you did to your knuckles to protect them. You no longer carry those calluses."

"No. After several years on the Isle, I decided I no longer needed added protection for smashing things with my bare hands. I don't know why I even cared. I had become so used to them that it actually took a few days for me to feel normal again without them. I'm sure _you_ influenced the decision somewhat, as odd as it sounds. Perhaps I thought you would come rushing to my side if only my hands were more attractive." Arya laughed softly. "I can't even tell you how many times I almost reached out to touch you and drew my hand back for fear of offending you."

"You always _did_ have to be careful, didn't you?"

"Aye, but I believe I can understand why you responded the way you did. In retrospect, though I do believe my feelings were honest, I see how immature I was and truly how childish I must have appeared in your eyes. I know I'm not much older now, and you're still far older than I, but I feel somehow as if I grew more during the time we were apart than in years added to my age. I imagine it must have felt to you like it would feel to me if a five-year-old girl professed her love and adoration of me."

Arya giggled at the thought. "Something like that. I didn't find it flattering at the time. And Fírnen reminded me right before I decided to come here that it surely had something to do with the fact that Fäolin, who was my friend and confidant for twenty years, had died so recently when I first met you."

"You also told me something of that on the same evening," Eragon remembered, stroking her cheek. "Do you still think about him?"

"Occasionally. But not with pain. I would imagine that you have also noticed some significant changes in myself since the time we were reunited."

"Indeed," Eragon confirmed. "You almost seem like . . ."

Arya smiled as he trailed off. "Like a different person?" she suggested.

Eragon nodded, also smiling. "That's one way to put it," he allowed. "You're more open, teasing, emotional, but only in a good sense. I mean, in Alagaёsia you never showed much emotion, from what I can remember anyway. And you're very passionate, which I never expected. Not that I mind. I can see how Fäolin's recent death must have played a significant role in your behavior. We have only been together for a couple of weeks, but I know I would be devastated if I lost you. I can't imagine how much stronger that would be after twenty years of companionship."

Arya nodded. "Yes, before Fäolin died, I was much more like I am now. I told you that night that if you had known me as I was before Gil'ead, you would not have considered me so aloof. Then I could sing and dance without feeling threatened by a sense of impending doom.

"But you are more to me than Fäolin was, Eragon, and I told you that he was someone I could talk to, someone who understood me. You understand me even better, for I never shared my true name with Fäolin. I know I loved him as a friend, and perhaps more, if I had allowed myself to believe that such a relationship wouldn't have distracted from our duties—a sentiment you are familiar with—but I never confessed that to him, and it didn't seem to interfere with our friendship. So yes, I do believe that was largely why I acted as I did during the war and the main reason I am so different now. You are my closest friend, Eragon, someone I trust and love even more than Fäolin, someone who accepts me with a full knowledge of my flaws. And I also no longer feel threatened by a sense of impending doom, nor do I even have the responsibilities of being ambassador or queen. Coming here was the first time in decades that I decided to give priority to my own feelings."

"Thank you for sharing that," Eragon gently said. "I am honored that you came to feel as you do."

"Though your youthfulness once bothered me," Arya concluded, "there is no question that you grew in wisdom and maturity well beyond your years and not just while we were apart. I began to notice it right before you left and admired it often during the years of our separation."

"I tried so hard, Arya, and you were always my motivation. I hoped I would improve myself enough to be worthy of your affection and that you would change your opinion of me, not out of pity but because I had earned it."

Arya kissed his cheek, her eyes filling with tears.

"I'm sorry, my love," Eragon said. "I didn't mean to make you feel somber. I believe the lighthearted part of me that you're seeing now is closer to the true me than the versions you're more familiar with, just as your current personality is a truer reflection of who you are. I feel that I can be myself without fear of offending you." Then with a sly wink he added, "Save in mentioning the topic of relieving oneself." Eragon hoped to make her laugh again, and he succeeded.

Arya laughed and blinked at the same time, quickly wiping away the tears that fell as she did. "I suppose I don't even mind _that_ so much now, after all we have shared as husband and wife. Of course, I mean the _mentioning_ of it. I fear I'll never get so comfortable with you as to feel at ease doing _that_ right in front of you." And having said only that, the blush in her cheeks was so rewarding that Eragon laughed.

"I know you hate that I say it so often, but I _love_ it when you do that," Eragon said, placing the fingers of one hand over her cheek to feel the warmth.

Arya leaned her cheek into his hand and closed her eyes. After a moment she thoughtfully added, "Although I suppose after giving birth in front of you, all of my inhibitions might disappear forever."

Eragon now became somber. "I've been trying not to think about that," he confessed. "I worry for you, Arya. From all I have ever been able to observe about it, childbirth seems the most agonizing, excruciating experience a woman must endure. I remember how Elain sounded during Hope's birth."

"You need not worry, Eragon," Arya reassured. "It is only that way for those women because they believe it must be and therefore create that experience. In their fear and ignorance, they work against their body's efforts, which produces unbearable pain."

Eragon remained silent, but his skepticism must have been clear in his expression.

"Think about it, Eragon," Arya pressed. "You grew up in a rural village among farm animals. Surely you must have witnessed the birth of a baby animal at some point. Did the laboring mother ever appear to be enduring excruciating agony? Did she wail and thrash and suffer?"

Eragon's skepticism faded somewhat as he contemplated her questions and recognized the truth in her words. "No, I suppose not," he allowed.

"No, _certainly_ not," Arya insisted. "She peacefully rested and relaxed while her body, according to its perfect design, opened and expelled the baby with very little effort of her own. Why then would it be that the most intelligent and sentient of all mammals must be doomed to suffer such horrendous agony? Our bodies are also perfectly designed for the work of not only growing a baby—which monumental and intricate effort takes place with absolutely no conscious thought of our own throughout the entire pregnancy—but also to flawlessly deliver that baby when the time comes for it to be born." In her fervor, Arya raised herself up, supporting her weight over her elbow so she could speak more clearly.

"The muscles of the womb are able to perform their proper function in an efficient and comfortable manner when the woman trusts them to do it and relaxes herself under their effort. It is only when she resists the powerful opening surges out of fear and ignorance that she begins to feel pain. Tensing herself in opposition to the measured efforts of the womb will create pain." Eragon was somewhat confused, which Arya must have seen.

"It's actually the same as when one needs to relieve themselves," Arya explained, hearkening back to his previous joke in an effort to find an example he could relate with. "Once one feels that pressure, their body desires to relax and release it. But if it were perhaps not an appropriate time to relieve oneself, one would resist the efforts of their muscles and hold it in and would thereby begin to feel discomfort. Resisting the natural function of one's muscles creates the pain. And the longer one went without relieving themselves when once they felt the need, the greater the pain would be. Do you see?" Eragon nodded as he made the connection.

"The longer the woman resists the efforts of the womb to open in her fearful and tense state, the harder and harder the womb must work to open, and the greater her pain will be as the womb fights against the tension of all surrounding muscles. When she begins to perceive the efforts of her body as painful, her fear also increases, which increases her tension and therefore her pain. It is a terrible cycle that is all but impossible to escape, especially if she is unprepared for what is happening, for the strength and duration of the opening surges increase as the labor progresses.

"Her fear also has the unfortunate effect of causing her body to prepare to fight some unknown danger or to flee from it, and all the blood rushes from the non-vital organs—one of which would be the womb—to the heart and arms and legs. Without sufficient blood and oxygen to perform its essential task, the uterus begins to suffer, creating yet another condition by which the woman will feel pain."

"At this point, I don't know why I should be so astonished by the perfect logic of your explanation," Eragon admitted, "but I am. Everything I have ever known or assumed about women and the mysteries of their creative ability was completely erroneous."

"Don't worry, darling," Arya comforted. "Many women also very earnestly believe that childbirth is the most traumatizing, painful experience they will ever have, which I find terribly unfortunate."

"So are you saying childbirth needn't be painful?" Eragon asked.

"Precisely," Arya approved. "It needn't be painful, nor is it meant to be. It is meant to be the crowning achievement of a woman's creative power. When a woman is aware of what is happening throughout her labor—aware of how her womb changes from opening to expelling, and what she must do in each of these separate and distinct phases of labor—she can work _with_ her body rather than against it, thereby reducing or completely removing any perceptions of pain.

"Childbirth is beautiful, peaceful, and comfortable. It should be the most empowering, precious experience a woman and her husband will ever have. But though it need not be painful, it almost goes without saying that it ends up being that way for many, simply because those women do not adequately prepare themselves. And, indeed, it does occasionally happens that a well-prepared woman experiences discomfort because of unforeseen complications. But I sincerely believe that it is one of the most regrettable and pervasive misconceptions among humankind to think that the birth of a baby is inherently dangerous and painful and should be approached with great misgiving."

"You have put my mind at ease," Eragon said. "After your detailed explanation, I see no reason why it shouldn't be that way, especially since I truly have witnessed the calm, peaceful experience you described in laboring animals. It really doesn't make any sense that humans—or any of the other two-legged, sentient races—would be the only mammals doomed to experience misery and agony during the birthing of their young. I find that I now eagerly anticipate this blessed experience."

"As you should, Eragon. It will be marvelous, no matter what might happen thereafter. Bringing our child into this world is something I look forward to as much as I did marrying you." Arya smiled at him then continued, "Do you remember when, at Hope's birth, I said I could have sung the baby from Elain's womb right from the start?"

Eragon nodded, and Arya went on, "That is what elves do to remain relaxed and in cooperation with the efforts of the womb during labor. We sing a song of trust and peace and love to our minds, to our laboring bodies, and to our babies. We trust the entire process—that our body is capable, that our mind is capable, and that our baby is capable, for even the baby assists in the birth process. The song reminds us to remain in harmony with all that is happening so it will be effortless."

"So there's no work on your part, then?" Eragon asked. "Of pushing or anything at all?"

"Not entirely," Arya said. "While the womb is opening, my effort is to remain as relaxed as possible so I do not interfere with the work only the uterus can perform at that point. This I accomplish by singing, as I said, and deep breathing to provide the womb and the baby with a constant supply of oxygen. However, once that task is complete, different muscles within the womb begin a completely different work of pushing the baby out, and in this stage of the birth I can be more helpful with some effort of my own. We also continue singing our song of invitation, which encourages the baby to peacefully exit its comfortable home. It is not necessary, just somewhat relieving, to take an active part in the birth, for the uterus is perfectly capable of performing the entire task with no assistance from the mother. But with some gentle and timely pushing, she may help her baby arrive a bit sooner."

Eragon smiled at her obvious anticipation. "You truly are excited for it, aren't you?"

Arya answered with a radiant smile and by saying, "Never have you spoken a greater understatement, my darling."

Eragon found his mind too occupied contemplating Arya's lengthy lesson to desire sleep. But it had also brought something less pleasant back to his thoughts. After a time he said, "Though I am loath to bring it up again, I suppose we must decide what we intend to do. Where shall we begin our search for answers? When shall we return to Alagaёsia?"

Arya's eyes had a distant look as she imagined the blessed event they had been discussing. With obvious reluctance, she brought her focus back to the present and regarded him thoughtfully before replying, "The most logical starting point seems the Eldunarí. The Riders would have had a strong presence in Alagaёsia seven hundred years ago. Perhaps one of the dragons remembers rumors or whispers of a strange occurrence in the eastern woods of Du Weldenvarden around the time of Angela's birth. It certainly wouldn't hurt to at least ask."

"That seems wise. And I suppose we must know what they know, if anything, before we decide what to do next."

"No matter what they might have to share with us, I think I would like to stay here for a short time so I can see what life is like for a Dragon Rider on the Isle of the Eldunarí," Arya said.

"I think life will be much different for the Dragon Riders on the island now that their most senior brother and master, for all intents and purposes, is a happily married man. There is no denying that I was always fiercely devoted to my work here, Arya, but I fear I was also stern and miserable. The other Riders will hardly know what to make of me now as they discover this lighthearted side of me that you mentioned. It's even newer to them than to you, who occasionally had some glimpse of it in Alagaёsia."

"Well, I look forward to seeing them adapt. From what little I have been able to observe, you earned their respect in no small way."

"Perhaps," Eragon allowed with a small smile. "Very well. I feel no desire to sleep at the moment, though some dinner would be welcome. What do you say? We could visit the Eldunarí after, if that pleases you."

"It pleases me greatly," Arya quipped with mock formality, continuing in the same tone, "It will be amusing to see my appetite grow to match yours in the next several months."

"Yes, it will." Eragon sat and reached for his pants. "These still look brand new," he observed as he pulled them on. "I guess after you first helped me remove them, I never wore them again until we came back."

"You looked better that way," Arya said with a grin. "Why spoil your perfect appearance with a piece of shaped leather?"

"I couldn't agree more," Eragon said, regretfully watching her body disappear under her clothing.

Arya smiled and ran her fingers through her hair a few times to pull it free of her shirt. Then she extended her hand. "Shall we?"

"But of course, my lady," Eragon playfully replied. He quickly shrugged into his shirt before taking her hand and leading her off toward the Great Hall. "If we're lucky, we'll arrive in time for dinner and not have to do too much work ourselves."


	35. Dinner

**35\. Dinner**

They arrived just as Eragon anticipated. The other Riders were already sitting together at one table, where two empty seats indicated their hope that Eragon and Arya would be joining them.

Eragon smiled broadly at everyone as they reached the empty places. One was at the head, which he assumed was for himself, and the other was to the right of that seat. Here he pulled the chair out for Arya and let her sit, pushing it in as she did. "What can I get for you, my love?" he asked before sitting, in case he needed to fetch something from farther down the table.

"I'll start with what's here, kind sir," Arya insisted, accepting his chivalry with a grateful smile.

Murtagh was to the right of Arya, and Willow sat at Eragon's left. They smiled at the exchange, and Willow murmured, "You win, brother. No dishes tonight." Murtagh laughed.

Eragon heard her words as he sat and asked, "What do you mean, 'I win'?"

"Not you, Eragon," Willow clarified. "Murtagh. He had a little bet going and the winner got out of dish duty for the night."

Eragon glanced at Murtagh with a raised eyebrow. "What bet might this have been, old chap?" he wryly asked.

"Oh, nothing much," Murtagh nonchalantly replied. "We each guessed how long you would stay away on your honeymoon. I guessed ten days, one for each year of your separation. So I won."

Eragon laughed. "Was no dish duty the only prize?"

"Yes, though I also jokingly suggested that the winner would be the next to enjoy the pleasures you have this last week and a half. If only that could be."

"I wish it could, brother," Eragon sympathetically agreed. Then he raised his voice. "Thank you, everyone, for _not_ seeking us out this past week. We had a splendid time." This was met with a number of laughs and smiles.

Eragon glanced at Arya for permission, and she nodded encouragingly, so he continued, "For those who have not yet heard, we also have some most unexpected but welcome news. Arya is expecting a child, and we couldn't be happier about it."

The Riders and others present began their various forms of approval by clapping, stomping their feet, pounding the table, cheering, and trumpeting—from the dragons. Angela alone remained quiet and thoughtful.

When the clamor died down enough, Eragon said, "I'm sure it's no surprise how we discovered so quickly, as you all know how to perceive the energy of even the smallest life. The child is due in the spring and before its arrival, we intend to return to Alagaёsia for a time. But before even that, my new wife," he gave Arya a proud smile, "wishes to see what life is like for a Dragon Rider on the Isle."

He intentionally paused, as if letting that take effect, adding with mock sternness, "So don't make me look bad, am I understood? Pretend I have performed my job well." Then he laughed at himself for his silliness, and the others joined in as well. Eragon noticed Arya observing the sidelong glances of disbelief the other Riders shared with one another, which were proof of the truthfulness of Eragon's prediction in their room. It seemed they must have believed his levity at the wedding would not be long lived.

When Eragon saw that they waited for him to continue, he said, "Carry on. Forgive us for interrupting your meal. I know I am different from before, but I suppose you'll just need to get used to it. Your grumpy, stern brother will not be back so long as his lovely wife is by his side."

The Riders carried on at his request, though not without many cautious looks in Eragon's direction and many reverent glances at Arya, which clearly conveyed their amazement at the transformation her presence had wrought in Eragon.

"Soon they will cease," he assured Arya when she mentioned the deference they were receiving. "They have long tried to lighten my sour disposition, but their attempts were so often unsuccessful that they began to think it impossible. Indeed, I suppose it was without your help. But once they see that I am finally the happier man they always encouraged me to be, I think we'll all be better off." He glanced at Murtagh, who had snorted into his cup. "At least we'll still have _old_ Murtagh here to carry on the irritable, lovesick wretch in my absence."

Arya and Willow giggled, and Murtagh raised his eyebrows in feigned shock. "What! I, a miserable wretch?" he jested. "Surely not!" Then with less jest he admitted, "I suppose it _is_ somewhat true. It hardly seems fair that the _younger_ brother should marry first and enjoy all that comes along with that blessed union. I made something of a similar observation right before suggesting my little wager."

Eragon once again agreed, more conscious than ever before of just what Murtagh was missing.

In his most serious reply yet, Murtagh said, "All joking aside, brother, I think I would like to accompany you and Arya when you journey to Alagaёsia. I have decided that I must present my suit before Nasuada or forever regret my reluctance. Do you object to that notion?"

Arya answered, "Certainly not, Murtagh! Having now experienced all that comes along with the blessed union of marriage, as you say, I would welcome your company. If you and Nasuada have a chance at the happiness Eragon and I have felt, then nothing should deter you from pursuing it."

Willow entered the conversation with, "Though reluctant to request an addition to your numbers, I feel I must also come, if only to learn more about these two women who have won the affection of such noble men. Perhaps if I discover something of their secrets, I might also hope to claim the heart of such a man in my future." She furtively glanced toward Varhog, who sat at her left, then looked again at Eragon.

Eragon grinned and, with a wink at Arya, said, "Well, that's easy. You must simply always be mysterious and discourage your suitor at every opportunity." Arya scoffed and pushed him. He caught her hand and kissed it.

Murtagh continued, "You must be intelligent and witty."

Not to be outdone Eragon added, "You must be wise and strong."

Murtagh took a turn, striving to defend the virtues of his love. "Fearlessly lead an entire army against hopeless odds, managing the whole affair with wisdom and leadership beyond your years, to finally emerge triumphant in the end."

"A good fighter," Eragon pressed.

"Able to endure agonizing torture and attempt an escape with only a spoon as your weapon," Murtagh rejoined. All save Eragon raised their eyebrows at his remark, for the others were not familiar with that incident. Murtagh shrugged and, with a hint of pain in his eyes, said, "Some other time, perhaps."

Finally Arya, who had been listening to the exchange with increasing exasperation as the two men sought to best the other, helpfully supplied with a twinkle in her eye but also in a tone of finality, "And above all, you must constantly complain of his age, for that is the true way to win a man's heart." Everyone laughed.

Once Willow had regained enough composure to speak, she mournfully said, "Alas, I fear I will never achieve such impressive deeds. Perhaps Varhog would have me," she teased, elbowing him meaningfully in his arm. "You're not as hard to please as these two, are you, Yelloweyes?"

Eragon had resolved to pay closer attention to Willow and Varhog, and he knew Arya was also intently observing them. Willow clearly hoped her implication would pass undetected by the others, and she glanced sideways at Varhog with an intensity that Eragon would have missed had he not been paying attention. Willow seemed to notice that her suggestion surprised Varhog.

Varhog replied in a light tone, "It would be an honor, Eartheyes." But Eragon clearly heard his deep sincerity, and Willow raised her eyebrows hopefully. Then her expression fell as Varhog continued with his own attempt at jest in an effort to hide his earnestness, "Of course, it would need be I who constantly complained of your age, since I am the senior between us."

Willow forced her expression into a smile, but Eragon saw that her eyes shimmered with a hint of tears before she turned them down to stare at her plate.

This exchange gave Eragon pause. In his mind he said to Arya, _I see exactly what you mean, my love. It's as plain as the sun at noon on a clear day. That_ would _be interesting, wouldn't it?_

 _Indeed it would_ , Arya agreed. _But Willow seems to feel differently than she did when we left. She_ encouraged _his response and was obviously disappointed about something. I am very curious to learn what will come of this unique friendship._

 _Aye,_ Eragon concurred. _An Urgal and a human. I know I have never before heard of it. Have you?_

 _No, certainly not,_ Arya said. _To think of all that may yet change as the pact with the dragons affects all the races._

Willow interrupted their mental dialogue by repeating her earlier request. "May I come with you to Alagaёsia? I haven't returned in all my time on the Isle, and I would dearly love to meet King Orik and Queen Nasuada. Even Roran and Katrina, if you will be visiting them. Roran is something of a legend among humans for the role he played in furthering the war with only the authority of his hammer and the creativity of his mind. No magic or special powers for him."

"I have no objection to the company," Eragon answered. "Do you?" he asked with a questioning look at Arya.

"Not at all," she assured.

Varhog surprised them by saying, "I too would accompany you, Firesword. I was the first of the new Riders to come to the Isle nine years ago, and I also have never returned home." He glanced at Willow while she wasn't looking, though Eragon saw that she noticed and gripped her fork more tightly. Varhog looked back toward Eragon. "Am I also welcome?" he finished.

"Of course, brother," Eragon said. "We shall be an impressive assembly of Riders converging on Alagaёsia together. Hanin, would you like to begin the first leg of your journey to Ellesméra for the Rider Choosing Ceremony with us? I know you meant to leave sooner, and your departure would need to be delayed somewhat. What do you think?"

"Certainly," Hanin acquiesced. When Eragon addressed Hanin, all other conversation at the table ceased, and Hanin continued, "Before Arya came here, I wasn't sure I would stay on after delivering the egg, but now it makes sense that I be the guardian Rider and stay to help the new Rider raise their hatchling. And I am now nearly in my sixth year on the Isle and haven't been home to visit my parents in two years."

"Perfect," Eragon approved.

Before Eragon could continue speaking, Arya commented, "That delay in having another egg hatch was very trying for me. I waited most anxiously for every opportunity to interact with a dragon and Rider."

"I'm sorry, my love," Eragon apologized. "I can see how that would have been difficult. I think it was for the best though, at least from our perspective here on the Isle. Though our first Urgal and dwarf brothers were then on good terms—"

"Thanks to Willow," Knilf inserted.

"Yes, thanks to Willow," Eragon agreed before continuing his previous train of thought, "Having a new Urgal and dwarf join our ranks required further adjustment, and we once again had to grow in unity and comradery before anyone else joined our ranks. Last year we received permission to deliver the next egg destined for a human, which was a pure white female who hatched for Tomath. He named her Snowfire after consulting with me. I told him the story of the noble stallion Brom had bought at the very beginning of our travels and how reliable he was. As far as I know, Roran still owns the horse, though he rests much in his advanced age.

"Anyway, the Eldunarí approve of having the next egg—a silver male—sent to the elves this summer. And already the dragons have made plans for next year, and another female is meant to go to the Urgralgra."

Eragon turned back to look down the table, addressing everyone else since they were all listening. "Does anyone else wish to join this ever-increasing company?"

The three newest Riders—Grintuk, Bodin, and Tomath—all shook their heads.

Grintuk had completed his first four years the previous summer, but since a new egg was not meant to go to the Urgralgra then—thanks to the two-year delay—he had remained on the Isle. His reason was that he did not wish to provoke the Urgal king's wrath with an unnecessary visit by dragon and Rider to Anghelm. And though he was still eligible to return, he once again declined.

"I think I will wait until next summer," Grintuk responded. "I can take the egg meant for the Urgralgra at that time and not trouble King Kulkarvek with the presence of another dragon in Alagaёsia any earlier than necessary."

Bodin would have been able to go, but he had received permission to accompany Knilf on his most recent visit, though he had been just shy of his four-year mark. He was therefore not allowed another visit so soon. And Tomath was still in his first year, so a visit was not yet permitted. That left Knilf, the first dwarven Rider.

Knilf shook his head regretfully. "Alas, mine brother, though this sounds a great adventure, I've only but returned from a visit to my kinsmen in the Beors. I suppose someone with a bit more experience ought to remain behind and keep these lads from getting into mischief." He chuckled merrily at the thought of being in charge.

Grintuk, Bodin, and Tomath also smiled at the idea of Knilf as their master. Knilf was a fine Rider, but he was more lenient than Eragon. Eragon saw no harm in a few months of less rigorous training, knowing that the elves and the Eldunarí who remained behind would keep everything in order.

Tomath did look slightly wistful, however. He had joined the Riders a year before at the tender age of thirteen, and Eragon imagined he was homesick for his family in Alagaёsia. He comforted Tomath by saying, "Take heart, Tomath. The next three years will go by swiftly. You will return to Alagaёsia as a powerful Rider, a fine swordsman and magician, and already a man in the estimation of most."

Tomath smiled bravely. He was so young that he almost regarded Eragon as a father. "I'll be fine, Eragon," he assured. Tomath was more inclined to refer to Eragon and all the others who were older than he as "master," but he was slowly getting accustomed to simply calling them by name. Willow had kindly taken to Tomath, filling in for the mother he dearly missed.

Blödhgarm quietly submitted, "I suggest you take the stores of brightsteel we have found here on the Isle to Rhunön, the elf smith. Though we have plenty of swords for future Riders to choose from and therefore do not need her to use it for the crafting of new blades, we have no use of the metal. Perhaps she might."

Eragon nodded. "We will have Hanin take it with him. Unless you also wish to come, Blödhgarm?"

"No, I have no desire to go," the elf replied. "I consider the Isle my home. Perhaps I can be of some use in keeping things in order around here." He turned a toothy grin on Knilf, with whom he was obviously on good terms.

The dwarf chuckled. "Indeed you would, Master Elf."

"I will also come, as you know, Shadeslayer," Angela contributed. "I only say that because you need to think of means of transportation where others but the Riders are involved. I could use the same method of travel I engaged in to arrive here, but I prefer to travel in your company."

Eragon understood why. He inclined his head to communicate as much then asked, "And would you ride a dragon?"

Angela nodded reluctantly. "I see no other way. We must not take to the seas, for that would add far too much time to the journey. All who are going are Riders except for me and Solembum, and all of the dragons are now plenty large enough to carry two, if they do not object."

Eragon reached out to Saphira, who—along with the other dragons—had been listening in keen interest. The other Riders' dragons shared a mutual excitement at the journey. Many of them had only made the flight from Alagaёsia once and had never returned. They were all much bigger than when they had arrived and rarely had opportunity to travel such a distance.

Before he could even ask, Saphira said, _Little one, I would be glad to carry someone other than you, if need be. I already knew you and Arya would not likely wish to be apart so long on Fírnen_ _and me, so I expected to fly riderless for at least some of the journey. But I would carry Angela._

Fírnen added, _I too would be willing._

Willow spoke up, "Sunset is smaller and milder than some of these older dragons. Perhaps she would be a better fit for Angela." Sunset hummed her assent. "I suppose that means I would need to ride with someone," Willow innocently finished.

Varhog cleared his throat but didn't look up from what he was doing, which appeared to be trimming his black fingernails with a small knife. "Black Thunder is large. He could carry two," he casually commented.

Grintuk mockingly said, "All of the dragons in question are large enough to carry two, Varhog." Varhog glanced up long enough to glare at Grintuk.

Willow ignored Grintuk and smiled delightedly at Varhog's statement. "I've always wanted to ride him!" she exclaimed. "He's so huge and magnificent!" Eragon saw the effect her words had on Varhog and that Willow hoped this fortuitous riding arrangement might prove to be more than a convenience. Varhog kept his eyes trained on his task even as he swelled with pride.

Arya raised her eyebrows and glanced at Eragon. _There it was again,_ she pointed out. _And Willow is on to him. She seems to feel the same, but it's as if she is waiting for something very specific from him._

Eragon tried to temper his surprise, especially when he realized that everyone else at the table, save perhaps Tomath, seemed to have noticed Varhog's overtures of the evening. _They're_ all _on to him!_ he cried. _I really must have been blind. Everyone here knows that Varhog cares for Willow, but he must not have told her, judging by the disapproving looks they are shooting at him. I can understand why no one would want Willow to be unhappy. She has tried to be an honest friend to everyone here and, as Knilf implied, she has been an essential element to the comradery between the Riders. I hope we will have more female Riders soon. Willow's calming influence has been irreplaceable among so many males of different races, where enmity and violence have such a long history. It will be most interesting to see if anything comes of this._

Then Eragon said aloud, "It sounds like the needful arrangements will be possible. We can decide on specific riding arrangements when the time comes. I suppose it will not be for some weeks yet."


	36. Eldunarí

**36\. Eldunarí**

Most of the company took that as the concluding remark of the discussion. Those who were finished with their meal began to clear away dishes and carry them to the kitchen for washing. A few remained to eat more, Eragon and Arya among them. They had often interrupted their meal with joking and merriment, so they focused with more effort on the task at hand.

After clearing her things, Willow bid them good evening and went after Tomath. She put her arm lovingly around his shoulders, whispering something to him as they walked toward the living quarters, and he smiled at her in return. Varhog watched her go until she disappeared then left through the exit to the courtyard.

"I'm grateful she is here," Eragon said once Willow, Tomath, and Varhog were gone. He and Arya were the only two remaining. Even Angela had quietly departed. "I don't know how Tomath would have managed without her comforting presence. I have often wondered if Sunset knew we would need her here to be successful and if that was not, in part, the reason she hatched for Willow."

"She truly is unique," Arya agreed. "She told me something of her past. It seemed sad and full of more death than one so young deserves. But she seems determined to be positive and to create the family she never had here with the Riders, by being the mother and sister all in one."

"Aye, that's a fitting portrayal," Eragon said. "What do you think of the idea Varhog seems to have in his mind? And she herself? Do you think that would be possible?"

"It's hard for me to picture, but I never thought I would marry a human and look at me now," Arya commented. "And I _never_ would have believed that an elf maid would fall in love with and marry a dwarf, but now I see that such an unlikely scenario also existed. Perhaps an Urgal and a human is not such an improbable match after all. Willow seems to be open to the idea, which I confess is the most surprising part of it to me, though I am slightly ashamed to admit it. I guess it's harder for me to imagine a stunning human woman desiring an Urgal ram than the other way around, even though I should know better, since the Urgralgra view humans with equal measures of animosity and disgust. Why do you think she acted as she did tonight?"

"It's hard for me to guess," Eragon admitted. "Perhaps Varhog hasn't yet revealed his feelings to Willow but she won't make it easier for him by bringing it up. She has no prejudices toward him or his race and never has, which is more than any of the rest of us can say. She gives everyone a chance to prove themselves without holding to any preconceived notions. Perhaps this is another reason Sunset hatched for her."

"I can imagine," Arya said. "It is honorable of her to be so just and open. It reveals the true depth of her character. Well, if things work out as they both seem to want, then I would say that Varhog is a lucky man. Or ram, I suppose."

Eragon nodded. "And Willow would also be fortunate. Varhog is very impressive and has excelled in every area of his studies. Any biases I still secretly nursed when he arrived have long since been dispelled by his exemplary discipline and dedication." He then asked, "Are you finished, my love? I haven't forgotten my promise to visit the Eldunarí, but if you are too weary this evening, we can retire and go at first light."

"I am finished eating," Arya answered. "And I would like to visit the Eldunarí this evening. If they know anything that could help us, I want to find out as soon as possible."

They quickly cleared the remaining things, saved any leftover food for later use, and made sure the kitchen was in order. Eragon explained the self-sufficient approach they had adapted on the Isle where every person took part in preparing and cleaning up after every meal so the work was light and easy.

"The Eldunarí encouraged an orderly and fair method, one where all would feel equally responsible and no one would be superior or inferior," he told Arya. "It has worked well so far. We are all on equal footing."

"That is wise," she said. "Do you think it will continue as time goes on and we earlier Riders become more experienced?"

"I plan to continue it indefinitely. If at some point any of us refused to help, it would make the work harder and more burdensome for those expected to take care of it in our stead. That would detract from their training efforts and possibly create resentment, something I would certainly prefer to avoid."

"Have you considered bringing help here?" Arya wondered. "Surely there are many who would consider serving the Riders a great honor."

"We haven't given it much serious thought," Eragon replied. "We already feel we receive more deference than we deserve with the privilege of bonding with the dragons and all the gifts and abilities that affords us. To enlist servants would only feed into the erroneous notion that we consider ourselves better than others and ought to be served. Or it would create the false impression that we're lazy and above the simple tasks of sustaining ourselves. With the wisdom of the Eldunarí to guide us, we have seen that this way is better for all. And we also feel it best that the location of the Isle remain as secret as possible to discourage unscrupulous visitors."

"You have become most wise, my husband," Arya said with mock solemnity but not without a touch of true admiration.

Eragon grinned and echoed her tone. "Thank you, my wife. But lest you give me more credit than is my due, my wisdom is largely thanks to the efforts of the Eldunarí. It is almost impossible _not_ to be wise if you listen to even a fraction of what they say."

"But in accepting their wisdom, you make it your own," Arya insisted, all mocking aside.

"Then what would you say if you learned that they encouraged me to let go of my feelings for you?"

"Indeed? And why would they suggest that?" Arya asked.

"They argued that it was distracting me from my work here no matter how diligently I sought to prevent it, also insisting it was a lost cause." Eragon smiled at her as they walked hand in hand to an outdoor location.

"Hmm, I'm not sure what I should think about their insinuation of my character."

"Perhaps they only realized that I was not as improved as you seem now to believe, and they saw that all appearances of wisdom were in truth merely reflections of their own. And that it would therefore be wise of you not to change your opinion of me," Eragon suggested with a teasing grin.

"Nonsense," Arya argued.

"Whatever the reason, it was of no use. I tried to follow their advice and failed. I tried so hard to let you go, Arya. I believed, as they did, that it was a lost cause. No matter how hard I tried, however, there was always part of me that refused to give up hope. It clung to your words that you might come to see me differently if only you had more time."

"I'm glad it didn't work. You letting me go."

"Yes, as am I," Eragon replied, putting one arm around her shoulders.

She put hers around his waist and they walked on a moment longer before she asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the home of the Eldunarí," Eragon answered. "They dwell in a large cave convenient to the training grounds. They prefer to be in contact with the warmth of the earth so they can feel its energy and life. With their power they are able to open the roof of the cave when desired so they can experience the openness of the skies. We often fly with them during training. It serves a dual purpose in that they are able to enjoy the feelings of flight they have long missed in their current state, and at the same time, they're able to provide the dragons with detailed and practical instruction of flight and all things pertaining to it.

"Each of the Eldunarí has such a unique perspective. There has never been a library, no matter how great, with such limitless resources for learning and instruction and in such an intimate way. I read many great books and scrolls during my training with Oromis and have read countless since that time from the volumes we brought with us and that Riders have gathered during their visits back to the mainland. But to have the wisdom of a dragon played into your mind—scene by scene, complete with commentary and explanation of every minute detail—is unparalleled. That being said, it is also completely overwhelming at times, which makes the retreat into a simple book, wherein only your mind and limited comprehension are available, all the more welcome."

"I look forward to learning more under their instruction," Arya said. "I felt similar under the guidance of those you left in my care, though there were only a few."

Eragon said, "I worry about what this experience will be like. When you call on them for remembrance of some minute detail, such as the secluded love of an elf and dwarf in the woods, those who are likely to know anything all combine together and begin rushing through their centuries' worth of memories, each trying to call upon anything that might prove useful. Prepare yourself for that."

"I will be sure to, thank you."

"Here we are then," Eragon announced as they arrived at the entrance to a large cave. "We call it the Cave of the Eldunarí. Not very original, I'm afraid. Like the name of the Isle itself. I always did have a hard time with names." They walked into it for a time, the already tall passageway continuing to rise as they went.

When Eragon stopped, they were in the opening of a vast domed chamber. The ceiling was open then, providing a clear view of the stars in the heavens, and Arya looked up.

Eragon followed her gaze. "They often leave it open all summer. They like the warmth."

On the walls of the chamber were rows and rows of earthen cavities, each the resting place of an Eldunarí. The vast array of colors and shimmers created the appearance of a wall full of precious jewels.

Before greeting the Eldunarí, Eragon said, "Cuaroc will ascertain that we mean no harm. He does every time. Even with me. Go ahead, Cuaroc." They each waited while the dragon-headed man performed his mental inspection of their minds. When he was finished, Eragon respectfully intoned, _Greetings, Eldunarí_.

 _Greetings, Eragon_ , countless minds returned.

 _As you have no doubt already learned, Arya, daughter of Islanzadí, former queen of the elves, has come to our island. We have been married and come seeking your collective wisdom, for we find ourselves in an unusual situation._

Glaedr spoke from the multitude of minds. _Welcome, Arya. We are glad we were mistaken in our counsel to Eragon that he must forget his feelings for you. We can feel his great joy and your own at your union. Never before did I know a similar such union—between an elf and a human—to carry such true love and tender commitment as I sense in yours._

 _Thank you, master,_ Arya humbly replied.

Umaroth joined with, _We welcome you also as a Dragon Rider. Here is where you belong and where you will learn the true ways of your calling._ He then continued, _Now tell us of your situation, Eragon. We will help if we are able._

Eragon began directly, _Arya is with child. We had our doubts that our union would ever produce offspring and yet so soon, almost as soon as it began, our fears were put to rest. But then we learned something most troubling indeed. Angela, the wise witch who has oft been our companion, informed us of her true background._

Eragon paused momentarily to see if any of the Eldunarí would provide some clue that they knew where he was going with his explanation. None did, so he continued, _She told us a tale of an elf maid and a young dwarf lad. They unexpectedly happened upon each other in the eastern woods of Du Weldenvarden some seven centuries past. Under the most unlikely of circumstances, they fell in love and were married, a secret known only by the dwarf lad's elderly mother._

 _Most impossible of all, their marriage produced a child, who in fact is Angela herself. As improbable as this story is, the most troubling part is that Angela's parents disappeared without a trace seemingly at the moment of her birth, though no one was around to ascertain the truth. Angela's elderly grandmother arrived at the scene of her birth to find her alone and abandoned by the parents who truly wanted nothing more than to have her._

 _We come before you to seek your insight into this matter, if you have any. We worry about the fate of her parents and if we too might face the same fate, as a couple of mixed races who has produced a child from our love. We fear what will happen when our child is born and if we must expect to abandon it and vanish. Is there any among you who can help us?_ Eragon finished.

Arya gasped as the mental onslaught Eragon warned about began. Hundreds of memories from dozens of minds began to rush through them. Eragon pulled her to his chest to steady her, being somewhat more prepared for it due to his previous exposures. He squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to block some of the sensory overwhelm, knowing he didn't need to comprehend all of it.

The dragons who participated were only those who had a chance of knowing anything about the time and place Eragon had described. Many of the Eldunarí would not have been anywhere near the eastern Du Weldenvarden seven hundred years earlier. Many others had not even hatched. But the information was still vast from those who attempted to help. They sorted and searched through memory after memory.

After an indeterminate time, when Arya had begun trembling and Eragon was feeling acute mental and physical exhaustion from so long an immersion in the dragons' minds, the unbearable flow of memories ceased, and they both shuddered in relief.

With noticeable regret Umaroth began, _I am afraid I was but a hatchling during the time you described, Eragon. I have no personal recollection of the events Angela shared. Nor, apparently, do any of my brethren and sisters. This love must have been secret indeed, and secluded deep within the forest, for no dragon to have the slightest memory of it._

 _We are deeply sorry that we cannot give you any help or insight into your dilemma. As Glaedr told you once before, there are many unexplained mysteries in Alagaёsia that even the dragons do not understand. And if, as your memories suggest, the werecats are also unaware, then you have a true conundrum. We will be most interested to learn of any unusual events surrounding the birth of your child, if you remain to tell them._

Arya began weeping softly at the reminder of that dismal possibility. Eragon imagined he knew how she felt. She had long desired to have a child and doubted she ever would, not only in her union with him, but at all, given the infertility of the elves. Then she had received her dearest wish so quickly, only to have it immediately threatened in such a mysterious way. It was enough to fill him with despair.

 _Do not give up hope, Arya,_ Umaroth comforted. _I can see that you have relied on faith to buoy you through this trying time. It will serve you well. The pureness of your love with Eragon is a rare thing. Few couples ever achieve such devotion and commitment. I believe it must in part be responsible for the creation of your child, for of the many relationships between elves and humans of which I am aware, to my knowledge, yours is the first of its kind to produce a child._

 _And that seems also to be an essential element in Angela's history. As unlikely as was her parent's love, it appears that it was their love which allowed them to create a child against all odds. Love is a powerful force, stronger than most people realize. It will carry you through this._

Arya nodded gratefully, and Eragon knew Umaroth's words had reminded her of her resolve not to despair at the unknown possibilities.

Glaedr added, _We have no reason to believe that something awful happened to Angela's parents against their wills. What Umaroth speaks is true. Love is a powerful force and in its pure form, it rarely leads to unhappiness, but rather to true joy and contentment. While appearances may suggest that something tragic happened, there is undoubtedly more to this mystery than meets the eye. I would guess that their love led to some greater good. Perhaps they sacrificed themselves in some unknown way to bless their child or even Alagaёsia at large, but that is only speculation. As Umaroth said, it would be most interesting to learn the truth of this matter._

Having fulfilled the purpose of their visit, Eragon and Arya had nothing to do but go. Eragon collectively addressed the Eldunarí, _We thank you for your time and efforts on our behalf. Should the birth of our child bring with it any unusual occurrence, we will certainly impart of our knowledge, if we are able. We, along with several of the other Riders and Angela, intend to return to Alagaёsia within approximately a fortnight. Do any of you wish to accompany us?_

Many of the dragons declared their excitement at that possibility, a longing for adventure foremost in their minds. Eragon knew he could take as many of them as wished to come using the spell they had taught him on Vroengard.

 _Then we will return for you before we depart,_ he promised, turning to leave with his arm supportively around Arya's waist.

As they walked, Eragon felt her sagging against him under the combined toll of her mental and emotional anguish. He lifted her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way back to their room, where he gently laid her on the bed and curled around her. He whispered to her the same words he had her first night on the island: "Sleep now, my love. I will keep you safe and warm."

* * *

 **A/N:** The following chapter contains brief description and discussion of a mature love scene.


	37. Dance

**37\. Dance**

Arya felt completely recovered from the previous night's exhaustion by the time she awoke. Eragon was on the other side of the room, not far from where Saphira and Fírnen curled affectionately around one another. He had his shirt off and was performing the fourth level of the elves' Rimgar with perfect flexibility and precision. Arya watched him in indulgent admiration. His body was sleek with sweat, though he did not appear to be winded, and his muscles flowed from form to form.

She sat up and stretched, smiling at Eragon as she did. He returned the smile without pausing his exercise. Arya arose, gliding over to stand in front of him. She picked up exactly where he was, mirroring his every movement with equal grace and fluidity.

"This is something I _could_ do while we were apart and I always felt cold," Arya said with satisfaction.

Eragon had been near the end of the dance when Arya joined him, and she was disappointed as they assumed the last pose. "Would you like to do it again?" he inquired.

Arya brightened hopefully, but she said, "If you are already tired, I could do it myself."

"No, Arya, I'm not tired," Eragon assured. "This helps me maintain my flexibility and strength, and I'm sure my stamina to a certain extent, but I rarely feel winded when I'm finished. I would be glad to do it again. In fact, I welcome the idea with relish. Having you to look upon breaks the monotony immeasurably." Then as a thought seemed to occur to him, he added with a sly look in his eye, "Although it does seem only fair that I have the same enjoyment as you. I didn't miss your pointed observation of my body as you assumed each pose. Won't you give me the same pleasure?"

Arya understood him perfectly and swiftly undressed before him, coyly asking, "Is this what you had in mind?"

Eragon cleared his throat, attempting to keep his face expressionless as he eyed her hungrily. "Aye, although I am doubting now that it was a good idea. It will increase the challenge of the dance considerably to have a partner such as you and maintain my self-control at the same time."

"I feel certain you are equal to the task," Arya confidently said. "But let us not delay, for _I_ may not be." The hungry look in Eragon's eyes only intensified, although he succeeded in keeping his face blank.

Arya began with the first pose, and Eragon imitated her. She moved smoothly from one form to the next, never faltering. Soon her body began to glisten with sweat, while his now dripped from him. She could tell his effort was far greater this time—his muscles tense as he warred with his emotions, his breathing harsh and strained.

Eragon never lessened the difficulty by closing his eyes, though he could have. Arya knew from his first time performing it that he had the Rimgar memorized, but he didn't seem to care that his mental suffering was great. He eagerly kept his eyes upon her, drinking in the fluid grace of her muscles.

After the final pose, they faced one another with fierce eyes, heaving chests, and gleaming skin. Eragon straightened formally, never taking his eyes from her. Arya also stood tall, using one hand to move the hair clinging to her wet brow.

They stood in charged silence, neither one daring to make the first move, hardly able to understand the tension they felt.

As if on cue, they urgently lunged for each other. When their lips met, Arya wrapped herself around him and Eragon carried her to the bed.

-:-:-

Eragon couldn't understand why his need was suddenly so wild, why it seemed as if he had never yet tasted or experienced Arya like this. Her passion seemed similarly uncontrolled, and in just moments, a powerful release swept over them both, but she couldn't cease, nor could he. They carried on, wishing for the usual calm, unable to find it.

When his mouth was momentarily free, Eragon growled through clenched teeth, "What is happening? My hunger for you threatens to destroy me!"

"I know not," Arya forced out in a low voice, "save I feel the same."

There was nothing to do but continue, for their passion demanded it, all control long since fled. Eragon tried to be careful, knowing the strength of his hands was sufficient to crush her body, but Arya seemed not to have the same worry, for she brought all of her own considerable strength to bear as she explored his body, and Eragon sometimes grunted in surprise.

After an indefinite time, perhaps only minutes, the longed-for relief finally arrived, and they were each equally stunned by what they had just experienced.

"What . . . was . . . that?" Eragon demanded, not of Arya, but of the room at large.

"I . . . I . . ." Arya faltered, unable to explain, for she obviously didn't know.

 _That was enough to put us dragons to shame,_ Saphira casually observed from across the room. The dragons hadn't openly gawked at their Riders, but they had experienced the exchange intimately enough through their minds. Fírnen's rumble of amusement vibrated through the floor, and the bed trembled in response.

Arya giggled, but Eragon only grimaced. Now that he was able to feel _anything_ other than the all-consuming lust that had just gripped him, he felt sickened. He gazed at Arya and softly said, "I'm so sorry, Arya. That almost felt _wrong._ I know it wasn't, but I just . . ." He trailed off, struggling to articulate his thoughts, as he was still not even sure of them. "It was how I imagine lust would be. Not at all the pure and selfless love we have shared so far. All I wanted was to satisfy myself to end the desperate—no, wild—craving. I had no thought for you at all except not to hurt you."

Arya stroked his hair comfortingly. "I felt the same, Eragon. If there is blame to be placed, though I do not think there is, then I deserve half. We are married and free to express our passion as we will, though like you said, without hurting each other. Incidentally, did I cause you pain?"

Eragon grinned tightly. "No, my love. You just surprised me." But he couldn't let it go. "But I don't fully agree with what you said. Yes, we are married and there was no sin in what we did, and yet I cannot help but feel that it was still not fully appropriate. I have been aware of relationships where the intimate expression was violent and self-serving, and the woman was always broken and despairing. I won't allow that to happen," he promised then pleadingly added, "Swear you won't let me."

"I swear it," Arya solemnly vowed. "I'm thankful you are so mindful of my safety and happiness, but I won't let you shoulder all the blame. I shared equally in the lust, if that is what you insist on calling it, and if anything, was more to blame for unrestrained expression. If I had been an unwilling participant and you forced yourself upon me, that would have been entirely different. But as it was, you are faultless."

Eragon smiled gratefully. "Why did it happen though? Was it merely the result of suppressing my passion while I watched you doing the Rimgar? It seemed so explosive, so sudden. Not even our first time, as passionate as it was, came close to rivaling _that_."

Arya sighed. "Eragon, we have been married but two weeks, and we waited so long to be with each other before that, particularly you. You are in the very phase of your life where this type of longing is most powerful. What did you expect? That one time with me would satisfy it for good? I appreciate how much you honor me, but don't be so hard on yourself. Indeed, you can see that nothing you have done so far has exceeded my wishes, but has only left me wanting more."

Eragon looked contrite, so Arya continued, "As to why it happened, I do not know, though your guess seems a likely possibility. I feel like there is some internal change responsible for the outburst, at least my part of it. Something to do with the baby perhaps. I have heard that pregnancy affects women differently. Some want nothing to do with their husbands, whereas others seem never to get enough. I fear I am more apt to fit into the latter category." She gave him an apologetic smile.

Eragon's expression was of feigned trepidation, his smile confirming his jest. But he did say with some degree of sincerity, "Then I had best be prepared. Your desire and intensity are already enough to make me the envy of all men, without adding anything to them."

Arya nuzzled him playfully, acknowledging the truth of his words. "Though all women might be as insatiable as I with a husband such as you," she said, also jesting yet honest.

"Please," Eragon begged. "If you do not cease in your ardent praise of me, it might yet go to my head. Then what will become of us?"

"I will end my praise of you when you end yours of me," Arya matter-of-factly replied as if that settled the matter.

Which it did, for Eragon said, "That won't soon happen."

Arya smiled triumphantly, stretching on him and propping herself up on his chest. "The day is yet young and see how much we have already accomplished? Some mild exercise followed by some strenuous. I have worked up quite an appetite. And you, darling?"

Eragon laughed at how she ranked their exercise and agreed, "Aye. That I have. Perhaps after breakfast, if we can control ourselves, we can join in the training routines of some of the other Riders. You mentioned you would like that."

"I most certainly would. Do you think I will lose control first or you?" Arya quipped.

"Must it be inevitable?" Eragon groaned. "It doesn't matter who does first. If I do _at all,_ anyone paying any attention will surely notice, so obvious is my arousal."

Arya laughed. "You may call on me at any moment to obscure said arousal, should the need arise."

"That's comforting," Eragon groused. "Shall we clean ourselves? I haven't sweat that much since before you came."

Arya laughed lightly, kissing his lips before springing nimbly to her feet and approaching the washbasin.


	38. Life on the Isle

**38\. Life on the Isle**

They ate breakfast ravenously, and Arya surpassed Eragon in her appetite for the first time. They were alone, since they arrived sometime after the other inhabitants of the Isle had already finished. They focused intently this morning, swiftly cleaning up when they were done so they could get on with the day.

"So what do the Riders do most days?" Arya asked as they headed outside.

"They divide their time between exercise, fighting, flying, magic, meditation, reading, studying with the Eldunarí—things of that nature, similar to how my time with Oromis was spent. Most of the Eldunarí have a particular Rider they have taken to and therefore taken under their wings, so to speak. They guide the training far better than I could, since I'm still receiving my own. We work together to improve our swordsmanship, hand-to-hand combat, axe throwing, and archery. Each of the races has a weapon and fighting style of choice, so we have all learned from each other."

"It sounds exciting," Arya said.

They arrived at a large open field where several pairs of Riders were sparring with each other: Murtagh and Hanin, Varhog and Willow, Knilf and Bodin, Grintuk and Tomath.

"You should match yourself with Willow. She has developed into an excellent swordsman—or woman, I suppose. Though I would wager you are still far better, she might like the change of fighting another female. She rarely gets the chance with the elves who came."

"I would like that," Arya said. "I see she's fighting Varhog. Most likely not a coincident from what we have been able to observe."

"I'm not so sure," Eragon countered. "Long before either displayed any hint of caring for the other, they grappled in single combat. He showed her around the Isle when she first arrived and has been her mentor ever since. They have fought extensively over the years, but it didn't take her long at all to learn her current techniques."

As they watched the pair, Arya said in amazement, "She is magnificent! No match for him in strength, but it is of little consequence. He can't touch her, she's so quick."

It was true. Willow barely moved when Varhog lunged for her, just enough to deftly dodge away, always remaining just out of reach, no matter how quick he was or how he tried to anticipate her evasions. They had no weapons—it was the hand-to-hand combat the Urgals preferred. Willow had a small smile on her lips, apparently enjoying the contest and how seriously Varhog took it.

"Has she ever bested him?" Arya wondered. "I can't picture how it would be possible."

"Countless times," Eragon replied. "She will probably make her move soon since he is tiring. She usually jumps on his back and locks him in a stranglehold until he nearly passes out. It's almost the only thing she _can_ do. If she stays in front of him, she has no hope. He is far too strong. On his back, she is somehow still able to evade his attempts to remove her. It's amusing to watch. Here she goes now."

Willow dodged a particularly aggressive attack from Varhog, which left him slightly off balance. She immediately turned and leaped on his back before Arya could blink. She wrapped both arms tightly around Varhog's neck and tucked her head down to protect it from the back curve of his horns as he swung his head from side to side. At the same time, she pulled her knees up under her body to keep him from grabbing her legs and squeezed with her arms as hard as she could. She expertly twisted as Varhog reached an arm behind himself to try to dislodge her. His back was too broad, his shoulders too wide, and his arms too muscled for him to reach her, curled into the middle as she was. His face reddened, and he fell to his knees. Willow quickly released her grip and sprang off.

Varhog fell forward on his hands, breathing heavily. Arya thought his posture seemed slightly wounded but mostly admiring. She then better understood his feelings for Willow. To be bested by a woman was no small thing for an Urgal ram to admit but most likely vaulted that woman to a place of highest esteem.

Willow went around him, kneeling down in concern. "Did I hold on too long?" she worried.

Varhog sat back on his heels and looked at her in obvious admiration. "No, Eartheyes," he assured, rubbing his neck. "You bested me again."

Willow giggled. "I don't know how I do it. Unless you're going easy on me, Yelloweyes _._ Are you?" she demanded, suddenly aware it could be a real possibility.

"No," Varhog honestly admitted. "I wish I could use that excuse. I wish I could get my hands on you. Then there would be no hope for you. You would see what the strength of an Urgal is like, but I just can't touch you. You're too quick."

Willow's lips quirked into a mischievous grin. "I'll let you sometime," she offered.

Arya thought she noticed some double meaning in Varhog's comments—Willow clearly did—and she glanced sideways at Eragon, who appeared to be of the same mind. He had a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. _I don't know how I ever missed it,_ he thought in amusement. _It's blatantly obvious to me now._

Willow continued in reply to the rest of Varhog's remarks, "There's no question what the strength of an Urgal is like, what with those enormous muscles you have. It's terrifying on your back, where I can feel them rippling underneath me as you reach for me. You could easily snap me in half if you wanted. I think I rather prefer being gently surrounded by them in front, as you have recently been so kind as to demonstrate." She tilted her head flirtatiously.

Varhog shook his head in exasperation and chuckled. He took her hands as he rose to pull her up and held them a moment longer than needful as he said, "But I never would, Eartheyes. Hurt you, that is."

The hint of longing in his eyes and words was painfully recognizable to Arya, as well as to Willow, it seemed. "Well, that's a relief!" Willow lightly said, smiling brilliantly in an effort to make her effect on him all the stronger. It worked, which only made Willow smile all the brighter. She laughed and continued holding his hands. "I'm glad you're not my enemy, Yelloweyes."

Arya thought to Eragon, _She's flirting with him! I suspect that she is becoming impatient for him to admit how he feels, though his every look and word seem to express it._

 _I believe you are right. Varhog is more far-gone than I thought, and Willow relishes the knowledge._

Varhog scoffed softly and said, "Never, Willow. You know that." She nodded confidently with a still-radiant smile then turned to greet Eragon and Arya. Varhog kept his eyes on her back then glanced up at the two newcomers, who regarded him perceptively. He shrugged helplessly.

"I bested Varhog _again_!" Willow proudly announced. "Do _you_ think he's going easy on me? I just don't know how I ever have a chance against him. I'm always afraid that one time I won't be quick enough and suddenly I'll have a few broken ribs or a horn crush my shoulder." She missed Varhog shudder at the thought of harming her.

"It doesn't appear so," Eragon said. "You really are very quick, Willow. All these muscles we men have do us no good if we can't get our hands on our enemy."

Willow smiled at the further confirmation of her skill. "I'm so glad you two joined us today! I have been so anxious to see Arya in action. You're something of a legend," she said, turning slightly to address Arya. "Blödhgarm has told me how Eragon never could best you with the sword no matter how hard he tried. But I've never seen anyone fight like Eragon."

Arya laughed regretfully. "Alas, those days are behind us. Eragon is now far superior with the sword. He achieved a level of mastery on the Isle that he never before possessed. I intend to improve myself until once again his equal but until then, he suggested we could perhaps fight. Would you be opposed?"

Willow raised her eyebrows, clearly both honored and nervous at the same time. "I suppose not," she slowly said. "There's no way I could possibly be better than you, but I'm not better with a sword than a lot of the Riders, so it won't be much different. Maybe I'd like fighting a female better, although a female elf is not so different in the area of strength than these male Riders. Still, if you wish, I won't decline."

"No, Willow, you are mistaken," Arya said. "These male Riders are all far stronger than I."

Eragon then encouraged, "You don't give yourself enough credit, Willow. You have made great improvements." He turned to Arya. "Usually when I or Murtagh or one of the elves oversees a fight, we communicate with our minds and give advice or instruction mentally so as not to distract the attention of the fighters away from each other. We are all familiar with it, as this is also how the Eldunarí interact with us. Do you object, my love?"

Willow smiled at Eragon's easy use of his endearment, and Arya replied, "Of course not."

Willow accepted a dull brown blade from Varhog, who had retrieved her weapon from the ground. "Thank you, Yelloweyes," she gushed. "You're always so thoughtful." She smiled brightly again, and he only shook his head in helpless affection.

"Is that a Rider's blade?" Arya asked.

"Yes," Eragon answered. "While exploring the ruins of the citadel in Ilirea, I found hundreds of Riders' blades in Galbatorix's treasure trove. Most of the Riders have been able to find weapons that are an acceptable fit, but it has been more difficult for the Urgals and the dwarves. Their statures are much different from those of the humans and elves for whom these blades were crafted. We have made do with what we have."

"It's a shame you can't have a blade to match Sunset," Arya said as she studied at the brown blade.

"Yes, but this sword is nearly a perfect fit for me," Willow dismissed. "Eragon has told me how Rhünon feels about appearance over form."

"But I've also told you how she felt about the dull, brown dragons," Eragon said.

Willow laughed. "Indeed. If we go to Ellesméra, I would dearly love to meet Rhünon. She sounds splendid."

"Gruff as can be," Arya replied, "but truly delightful if you can see past that. She is a living relic and a welcome reminder that we elves used to resemble people more than machines designed only for courtesy and manners." She laughed, as did Eragon and Willow.

"Only on the surface," Eragon defended. "Get an elf behind closed doors and you're in for a treat." Arya blushed, and Willow laughed in delight. "I'm sorry, my love," Eragon meekly said, though he reached up and caressed Arya's pink cheek.

Arya leaned against him and shook her head in amusement. "It's no matter, Eragon. I'm getting more used to it all the time, and I know how much you enjoy it. Anything for your happiness, _darling_."

Eragon chuckled and kissed her forehead. "Well, before I distract you again, would you ladies like to begin?"

"Yes!" they both cried. Arya drew her green blade, Támerlein, and the two women faced each other some distance from one another in the clearing. The other Rider pairs had stopped their various contests to gather around.

-:-:-

Willow nervously muttered, "I don't know if having a crowd will give me performance anxiety or help me improve as I try to appear at my best." She stabbed her sword into the earth and quickly wrapped her long hair into a knot behind her neck by pulling the end through the loop and securing it in place with a clip she from her pocket. "It probably won't hold long, but it's better than having it fly all over right from the start."

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in and out very slowly and deliberately to calm her mind and achieve the mental clarity Eragon insisted was so essential to success. She then retrieved her sword and raised it in front of her to signal that she was ready to begin.

When she opened her eyes, Arya appeared to be a different shade. Willow recognized the strange phenomenon from her previous fights. She saw the world in a different light when she was in this mental zone of empty awareness. Her jittery nerves were a thing of the past, her anxiety at the crowd far from her mind. She knew they were there—just as she was aware of everything around her, small and large—but she processed the knowledge with efficient indifference. She filtered all of the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of her surroundings just as Eragon and the Eldunarí had taught her to, considering how each might interact with and affect the fight. But she never let anything distract her from her main object of focus, which was her opponent. Eragon's mind was in contact with hers, but he thought nothing to her at the moment, and Willow knew he would interfere as little as possible with mental commentary during the match.

Willow was very comfortable achieving this mental state. She used the same detached awareness every time she fought Varhog and had for nearly seven years.

Willow and Arya calmly stared at each other, each completely unfamiliar with the style of the other, though they made educated guesses. Willow imagined that fighting Arya would be much like fighting Hanin, Blödhgarm, or one of the other elves, and she also knew that Arya would most likely guess that her fighting style resembled Eragon's, since he had been her main instructor.

They were content to see if the other would begin. After several moments of standing still, Willow bent her knees slightly just to see how Arya would react.

Arya simply observed the movement, waiting to see if it would evolve into anything more. Willow stepped toward Arya's left, since she held her sword in her right hand.

Arya responded with an identical step to keep the distance between them equal, but as she did so, Willow quickly darted in with a graceful twirl to close the gap between them. She perceived that Arya thought her first step casual and matched it with equal casualness—thus it was in that moment Willow saw her opportunity to take Arya by surprise.

It worked, and Willow sensed Arya's surprise, but the emotion was gone as quickly as it came, for Arya saw how Willow brought her sword up in a flowing continuation of her twirl to strike at her middle. Arya raised her own sword in anticipation of the blow, but Willow heard the blade whistling through the air while her back was turned, concentrating more with her other senses when her sight was momentarily unable to assist her.

Willow adjusted her thrust as she came fully around, and rather than aim at Arya's middle, she held her sword low and swept at her legs. Arya had less than a second to see the adjustment, and she sprang nimbly up so the sword flew harmlessly beneath her. But Willow sensed her preparation to jump and didn't put as much strength in her swing, knowing the blade would not find purchase and wanting to recover quickly enough to strike once more as Arya landed. This she did, aiming _then_ at Arya's middle. Her sword tapped Arya's ribs for the briefest moment—if their blades hadn't been dulled, it would merely have cut her clothing—but in the same instant, Arya dodged sideways, slashing toward Willow's back.

Willow didn't see the attack, but she once again heard it, and Arya's blade made similar light contact with Willow's shoulder, since Willow twisted enough to avoid the full brunt of the blow. Her evasive twist brought them squarely facing one another again, in time for Willow to see Arya execute a powerful thrust straight toward her abdomen.

Willow still had momentum from her twisting maneuver, and she exaggerated it to avoid the painful blow. It brushed past her, skimming her side.

Arya put great force into the blow, and when Willow narrowly dodged it, Arya caught herself with a large step to maintain her balance, which left her in a poorly-defended position just beyond Willow's body. Willow swept her sword toward Arya's back, and Arya only avoided it by dropping to the ground in a graceful roll and springing to her feet a short distance away.

They kept their swords at the ready as they once again regarded one another, this time more aware of what to expect.

-:-:-

Eragon took the moment of recovery to provide some commentary. _Willow, your initial move provided a good element of surprise, but it might have been better to remain facing your opponent rather than twirl theatrically. Still, you relied on hearing to anticipate Arya's reaction and prepared to adapt as needed. Your body also blocked your adjustment from Arya's view, which gave her very little time to react._

 _Arya, your reflexes and speed are impressive. Twice you completely avoided blows that would have been serious, with less than a second to prepare._

 _Willow, you keep turning your back to her, which gives her the opportunity to strike when you can't see. Listening has helped you avoid the worst of it, but seeing would be better still._

 _Arya, your confidence that your blows will make contact has caused you to overcompensate, which leaves you unguarded. You draw from your previous experience fighting humans and underestimate Willow's ability to react with sufficient speed. Anticipate that Willow might dodge your slashes and prepare for that possibility even as you expect to succeed. You will be less likely to get off balance._

 _You are both doing amazingly._

Eragon ended his instruction with that, not wanting to interfere with their continued fighting. Arya gave him a tight smile, Willow only the briefest mental acknowledgement—her visage showed no sign he had addressed her. Eragon decided it would be best to keep his attention more on Willow, since she wasn't tempting to him like Arya.

Arya was clearly the superior fighter. Her decades of practicing form and footwork gave her the distinct advantage in that area, and yet Willow still managed to hold her own. For every two or three tags Arya made, Willow made one in return.

Eragon wasn't surprised to strongly recognize his own style in Willow's fighting, and he was proud at the mental control she demonstrated. Her form and footwork were also excellent, just not as superior as Arya's. But Willow's speed was truly most impressive, especially considering that she was fighting an elf.

Against Varhog, an Urgal who so was much larger and bulkier, the fact that Willow seemed so much quicker in comparison wasn't terribly unexpected. But to still appear so fast next to Arya was most surprising indeed. Eragon knew it was because Willow's increased sensory perception allowed her to anticipate Arya's moves as she made them.

Eragon's focus on Willow momentarily slipped as Arya performed a graceful maneuver that reminded him of the Rimgar. He remembered that Oromis had told him the Rimgar was a series of forms and poses developed to prepare elven warriors for battle. He had never noticed before how closely an elf's fighting style drew off the Rimgar until that moment, as he thought back to that morning and how he had observed every minute movement of each form in such breathtaking perfection.

Eragon abruptly withdrew the contact of his mind from Willow as his thoughts began down _that_ path, for he did not want to embarrass her. But his sudden absence from her mind distracted Willow just enough that her grip on her sword slipped exactly at the moment Arya bore down on the blade with her own. Willow's hands were forced down under the pressure and she dropped her weapon. Támerlein crashed against her thumbs, immediately breaking them.

Willow cried out in pain as Eragon and Arya both simultaneously exclaimed, "I'm sorry, Willow!"

Varhog took an involuntary step forward at the moment of Willow's injury, but the gesture was lost on Willow, who cradled her bruised, misshapen hands. Arya's left palm glowed as she carefully healed the injuries with magic, thinking, _Eragon! Shame on you!_

Eragon felt sufficiently ashamed on his own, knowing his careless distraction had caused Willow's injury. _I'm sorry, Arya,_ he contritely thought. _I should have known better than let my thoughts stray to this morning._

 _You should apologize to Willow too,_ Arya demanded.

 _Were my words not sufficient?_ Eragon hopelessly asked.

 _She barely noticed, as much pain as she was in. She was worried something was wrong to have caused such an unexpected removal from her mind. You need to explain, at least somewhat,_ Arya insisted.

Eragon took a deep breath then said loudly enough for all to hear, since the others were also looking at him in confusion, "Willow, I'm terribly sorry for my thoughtlessness just now. I was attempting to keep my focus on you so my mind wouldn't wander, as it would have had I been observing my wife, but my resolve slipped for a moment and I began to think about . . ." He trailed off awkwardly, his face flushing that he had to admit this aloud. But he resolutely continued, "Ahem. I began to think about something that happened this morning. Anyway, I thought feeling the tone of _those_ particular memories would make you uncomfortable, so I severed the contact I had with your mind. But I can see that such an abrupt action was also a mistake, as it startled you and resulted in your injury. Can you forgive my foolishness?"

Willow looked at him, her pained expression slowly dissolving into teasing delight that he had just offered such a forthright apology, exactly in the way she would have done. "Of course I forgive you, brother! I'm glad it was only a romantic memory that caused you to leave my mind. You have never had those sorts of distractions before, or indeed any type of distraction at all. I worried something far more serious had befallen you."

In spite of the deepening color in his cheeks and ears, Eragon was relieved that Willow had accepted his apology and forgiven him without further ado. He glanced at the others and noticed for the first time the variety of expressions that met him.

Murtagh looked amused and also envious. Knilf and Bodin chuckled merrily at his confession and embarrassment, as did Hanin and Grintuk. Tomath looked confused. Varhog looked slightly displeased but also understanding. Eragon imagined that such a distraction might have been something Varhog could relate to.

"I suppose that's enough for the morning," Eragon said after a moment. "Shall we break for lunch? Though Arya and I just came from breakfast, I would imagine the rest of you are beginning to feel hungry."

This suggestion was met with approval all around, and everyone began to head back to the Great Hall.

Arya fell in stride next to Eragon. He smiled sheepishly as he looked over at her. "And so, my love, you have had a perfect demonstration of what life has never before been like on the Isle without your presence. Are you satisfied?"

"Perfectly," Arya replied, nudging him with her shoulder. "Nothing could have been more satisfying than seeing you squirm and blush like that."

Eragon nudged her back, sweeping her around when she tried to retaliate with more force. She laughed in delight and held on around his shoulders when he tried to set her down, which made him stumble. He lightly kissed her before placing her at his side and taking her hand so they could walk back with the others. All who witnessed their exchange smiled or laughed, gratified their beloved leader was so happily in love.

-:-:-:-


	39. A Formidable Threat

**39\. A Formidable Threat**

Varhog reminded everyone of Willow's twenty-third birthday to ensure that the Riders would hold a proper celebration. The merry party occurred twelve days before the anticipated departure, and it was nearly as joyous as Eragon and Arya's wedding festivities, for each and every Rider on the Isle loved Willow in a very dear way.

The carousing carried well into the night, and after Varhog accompanied Willow back to her room, where he gave her an embrace and she thanked him for his thoughtfulness in arranging the party, he went in search of Grintuk.

He didn't have to look long. Grintuk was in the Cave of the Eldunarí teaching the next dragon meant to hatch for the Urgralgra how to speak the difficult language from within her egg. As Varhog entered the domed chamber that housed the Eldunarí and dragon eggs intended for Riders, Grintuk looked up and greeted, "Varhog."

"Grintuk," Varhog returned. "I have come to discuss something with you. May I?"

"Certainly. Let's speak Urgralish. It will help the dragon become familiar with the language as she hears it spoken by two natives." They switched to their native tongue from the ancient language, which was what nearly all the Riders spoke on the island once they were able to. Most of them were multi-lingual but none so much as Varhog.

Varhog nodded, waiting patiently while Cuaroc performed his routine examination to ensure that Varhog's intentions were peaceful and he was who he appeared to be.

"I could guess what's on your mind," Grintuk observed once the dragon-headed man had finished.

"I'm sure you could," Varhog said, wearily kneeling across from Grintuk. "Everyone can. Even Willow these days. When we went to Lake Arya about a week ago, she told me that she _wanted_ to be more than friends, Grintuk. I'm sure you can imagine what that meant to me. Since then I have tried to determine why I'm still so reluctant to confess my deep love and admiration for her. I finally realized that it is because I believe it will endanger her. That's the only satisfactory explanation. It was somewhat relieving to realize that I am not simply some cowering fool, though there must be some degree of that as well."

Grintuk smiled slightly. "No, Varhog. I doubt it. Your first reason is surely the most likely explanation. I understand your difficulty, brother, at least theoretically, since I'm not in love with a human. But even saying those words reminds me of the challenge you are facing. How many members of our race would ever be or have ever been able to say they were _in love_ with a human to the point that they desired him or her as a mate? None, Varhog."

"Exactly," Varhog agreed. "And none would ever look upon the notion favorably. My own family would even be opposed, I'm sure of it. I know how I would have felt if someone had suggested the idea to me before I knew Willow. I would have been outraged by the thought. I don't know what to do, Grintuk. It's killing me to see her suffer and wonder. I want so desperately to lay her fears to rest and admit how I feel, how I have felt for so long, but where would that leave us? Say we do decide to marry," he paused and shook his head in frustration.

Varhog knew how impossible that would be for the Urgralgra to accept, but he forced himself to continue, "Say we do decide to marry. What then? If I take her to my village as my mate, they might tear her limb from limb for her supposed crimes in accepting one of the most honored rams of our race as her mate. If we show up unmarried but with the intention of joining, I fear the same danger."

"I'm sorry, Varhog. I would also have felt the same before knowing Willow. There were a few humans—Lady Nightstalker, Firesword, Stronghammer—whom the Urgralgra respected after the war, but those who did were mainly from the more southern tribes. All we heard up north in Anghelm was warped through the mad ramblings of King Kulkarvek, who hates humans—and dragons actually—above all living creatures. Anyone from the Delvhtuk clan could tell you that—"

"The king!" Varhog exclaimed, hanging his head in his hands as he despaired, "I had all but forgotten about him in my pondering. Ever since I have known we were going back to Alagaёsia, I have been wholly wrapped up in thinking about my family and my village, which is where Willow is most likely to go. You're right, Grintuk, though I am not as familiar with Kulkarvek as you."

Grintuk nodded. "Aye, he never looked on the idea of the Urgralgra being included in the pact with the dragons in the same way your uncle did. I think it infuriated him that he wasn't consulted, but I am quite sure that Firesword was barely aware of an Urgralgra monarch at the time, which is probably for the best. I consider the king the most formidable threat remaining in Alagaёsia, but he is always so secretive and withdrawn, as if possessed by memories of such terrible tragedies that he can barely function.

"Before the revised pact and the Games, he was content to sit on his throne in the barrows and stew over the demise of Galbatorix and Shruikan. When he learned they had been defeated, he was almost giddy with joy, but that was short lived once he learned about Firesword's other actions. Since then he has begun to be more violent again, and he demands the same from the rams in Anghelm and the closest settlements. There is no denying him. Some don't want to, some do, but no one can argue with him. Anyone who dares try ends up dead, which is one reason I have never returned for a visit. My family is among those who oppose the king, and I would hate to confront him for any reason. He is impossibly old, impossibly strong, and seems never to die no matter how many generations pass. It's an awful mystery. Those not sympathetic to him keep wishing death would finally put him out of his misery, along with the rest of our race, but so far it hasn't, no matter how old he gets."

"How long has his hostility been increasing?" Varhog wondered.

"After Black Thunder hatched for you is when it really began. I was one of the final few rams permitted to compete in the Games before Kulkarvek denied the rest of our clan from participating. When Murtagh arrived with Nar Garzhvog to deliver Kuldr's egg, King Kulkarvek was furious. It was good your uncle warned Murtagh to stay away from the city center and the barrows, otherwise he might have been killed. I remember meeting the king. It was terrifying, Varhog, and little frightens me. But he is two feet taller than I, which is enough to intimidate anyone as big as I am. He asked why _you_ hadn't been the one to deliver the egg, but the idea of dragons and humans—particularly Murtagh and his red dragon, for some reason—was aggravating enough that he didn't care as much about you not being there. He ranted for some time about how much he hated humans and wanted to abolish them from the land. After you became a Rider, his worst altercations occurred each year a new human Rider was chosen. I was there when Willow was chosen, and my family has informed me that the same thing happened last year when Tomath became a Rider. His hatred of humans is universally known in Anghelm, but of human _Riders_ , it is of an even more malicious, vengeful variety."

"I remember something similar when I briefly appeared before the king nine years ago," Varhog said. "I didn't know what to make of it at the time, and we are so far removed from it here on the Isle that it hasn't bothered me since. But now it concerns me. Especially how it might affect Willow. I will have to keep this in mind, but do you have any advice for me with regards to my more pressing dilemma?"

"Did you immediately love Willow?" Grintuk asked.

"No," Varhog replied without pause. "She was human and puny and weak. But she did impress me for how fearless and open she was. She had no preconceived notions about me being an Urgal."

"I also remember how strange that was when I met her, though she'd had a couple of years of friendship with you by then," Grintuk agreed. "But it was _my_ first exposure to a human who didn't fear or dislike me even slightly. When did your feelings begin to change?"

"After she first defeated me," Varhog firmly answered.

"Yes, that's when I too realized how amazing she is," Grintuk admitted. "That's impossible for an Urgal to ignore. You already know what you must do, Varhog."

"But how can I?" Varhog demanded. "What if Willow were injured or killed? I would fly into a rage so terrible that I might kill my whole village." He breathed heavily for a moment, forcing himself to calm down. "I know they would never consider letting me take Willow as my mate unless she fought to prove herself and maybe even not then. But I'm not sure Willow cares enough about me to fulfill that requirement."

"Have you thought about not telling your village?"

"Of course! And I think that would be worse than any of the alternatives. If they found out indirectly, they might disown me on the spot, and that would mean terrible things for human-Urgralgra relations. If there was some way Willow and I could win the approval of my clan, I think it would mean very good things for both of our races, but I hate to think of what they might expect of her. It makes me furious that our people would demand she prove herself worthy of me when the truth is that I'm barely worthy to grovel on the ground at her feet."

"Well one thing is certain, Varhog. You need to tell her how you feel. And soon, especially if she has already told you she wants to be more than friends with you. It has been depressing to see your friendship with Willow hampered these past weeks. Willow and Varhog. That has been as constant as Firesword's stern indifference always was. Now that there is this unspoken confusion between you, it's affecting everything, especially Willow's happiness, which none of us can bear, least of all you. At least you would be able to speak openly with her about all of this, rather than ranting to Black Thunder and me. We can only help you so much, brother. This is between you and Willow."

"And our races," Varhog bitterly repeated. "I wish it was only between me and Willow, Grintuk. I would have told her long ago that I adore her, but we can't pursue a relationship without inevitably involving every member of our respective races who would condemn our choice and seek to drive us apart. But you're right. And I will tell her. If by some unlikely miracle she agrees to become my mate," he rubbed his eyes in exhaustion—voicing that thought was still difficult for him, "we will deal with all the rest that might follow when we must." He abruptly stood, wanting nothing more than to sleep. "Thank you, Grintuk. I appreciate being able to discuss this with you. It helps to speak aloud sometimes."

Grintuk smiled. "I understand, Varhog. Good luck." As Varhog turned to go, Grintuk suddenly said, "Wait, Varhog."

Varhog stopped and looked over his shoulder while Grintuk continued, "If Willow accepts you, don't kiss her. And don't let her kiss you. At least not until you're mates. If you really haven't ever learned from some of the mated rams what to expect once you take a mate, it seems only right that I warn you. That was something they strongly emphasized."

"Why?" Varhog curiously wondered.

"You will immediately feel an overpowering urge to make love that no Urgal can resist. Something about our hot blood. At least that's what they said."

Varhog raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Is that so? It's hard for me to imagine Willow wanting to kiss me, but I appreciate that. If she ever did, I'm sure it would be in the friendly, caring manner other humans feel when sharing such an expression. She might not like if all the rest were to follow against her will." He chuckled. "Thank you, Grintuk. Truly. Good night."

-:-:-

After Varhog left, Grintuk returned his attention to his task. The dragon inside the deep-purple, bronze-streaked egg mentally thought, _It was helpful hearing you converse in Urgralish with another member of your race. This is a difficult language to learn._

 _Yes, I can imagine,_ Grintuk replied, _especially for one accustomed to the ancient language, though as a native speaker, Urgralish seems the most natural thing in the world to me._ He chuckled and felt a small wave of amusement from the tiny creature.

 _I am anxious to escape these confines,_ the dragon confessed. _I have been in here for so many decades, over a century in fact. It becomes quite tedious._

 _I believe it,_ Grintuk said. _You need only wait another year. Then your time will come._

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sorrowful mental tones of one of the Eldunarí. _Beware Kulkarvek,_ she mournfully droned. _He is a formidable threat to a dragon. I died—that is, my flesh body was killed—at his hand, and for many years thereafter I was a prisoner to his wicked will._

Grintuk stiffened in surprise. _Who are you?_ he anxiously wondered in the ancient language, which was how the Eldunarí had addressed him. He didn't recognize the mental voice of this dragon and was sure it wasn't one of the Eldunarí who regularly interacted with and instructed the Riders. The tone of the dragon's consciousness had been tinged with madness, and Grintuk wondered if it was one of those that had been trapped in Galbatorix's thrall. All had recovered, but some had never fully regained their previous level of clarity or insight. He waited for a response, but none came.

 _Please,_ he tried again, _we might have need of this information in the future. What is your name?_

The dragon had cut off her thoughts as abruptly as she had opened them, and no matter how Grintuk coaxed, he received no further communication from the mysterious Eldunarí.

-:-:-:-


	40. Departure

**40\. Departure**

The Riders spent the next couple of weeks engaging in the various activities of their training routines and studies. The same cheerfulness that was present after Willow and Arya's sword fight prevailed. Everyone enjoyed Arya's company among them, but all of the happenings were overshadowed by the palpable excitement felt by those who would be returning to Alagaёsia.

Angela once sought out Eragon and Arya to ask if anything unusual had ever happened to them while together, any unexpected experiences of a spiritual nature. Eragon was confused by her meaning, willing to describe many of his recent experiences with Arya as spiritual in nature, but Arya had mentioned the time the spirits had visited them as they journeyed together back to the Varden.

Angela had clucked and fussed about it being "troubling" and "mysterious" then had departed just as hastily as she had approached, leaving them to muse over the incident without further enlightenment.

The Riders made preparations as the day of the departure for Alagaёsia neared. Careful effort went into modifying and expanding some of the saddles with additional straps and seat areas so they would easily, safely, and comfortably accommodate two Riders. They assembled the Eldunarí who wished to accompany them and magically reduced them to the size of a pinpoint, divided equally to travel behind each of the flying dragons. A considerable store of brightsteel was also thus packed, made ready to carry to Rhunön. The Riders organized what few supplies they needed—mainly food and clothing, including appropriate winter gear—and packed their saddlebags.

Finally the anticipated day dawned. The Riders had agreed on their various riding arrangements. Arya and Eragon rode together on Fírnen, not wishing to be apart, just as Saphira had predicted. Saphira flew alone for the first stretch of the flight. Sunset carried Angela and the human-boy form of Solembum. Hanin, of course, flew with his own violet dragon, Vera. And Willow truly did ride with Varhog on Black Thunder, just as he had casually though hopefully suggested.

When they finally took to the air, the dragons' enthusiasm was uncontainable. They twirled and swooped about, joyous to be embarking on such a long journey together, their mood only fueled by the elation of the Eldunarí who could no longer fly for themselves. All of the dragons engaged in this behavior save one, that is.

Sunset, who was extremely mindful of the trepidation of her passengers, flew smoothly and off to the side of the swirling mass of dragons so the gusts from their wings would not disturb her timid riders. Though dragons and werecats were traditionally very friendly, Solembum's regard did not necessarily extend to being a passenger on one of the enormous beasts.

After the initial excitement died down, Eragon wrapped his arms tightly around Arya, squeezing her against him as he thought, _It's nice that we get to be together like this without interruption for a time._

 _Mmmm,_ she agreed, snuggling into him. _The last time I flew this great distance, I was miserable. It felt as if my body would break into a thousand pieces from the strain on my tense, shivering muscles. Now I feel warm, comfortable, and full of anticipation, as I should._

Eragon pressed his hands over her womb, feeling a pang of guilt that he hadn't asked or even thought about the baby in almost two weeks. Her body remained as yet completely unchanged by the growing child, and he found it too easy to forget. In an attempt to redeem his thoughtlessness he asked, _And how is the baby doing?_

His question elicited such delight in Arya that Eragon vowed he would never again go so long without asking. _Wonderful!_ Arya gushed. _It is growing so much and so quickly. Here, feel with your mind! You will be amazed at the difference from just a few weeks ago._

Eragon reached out with his mind toward her womb and gasped. As Arya predicted, he was dumbfounded by the changes in the embryo. He observed a tiny heartbeat pulsing at a dizzying rate, proving the life-force of this miniscule being in an irrevocable manner.

 _The heart!_ he thought. _It's already so fast and strong._

 _Yes. It's the first organ to begin functioning, pumping the blood from my body to the developing cells of the baby._

 _It's incredible how it all works so seamlessly,_ Eragon said.

 _It is,_ Arya solemnly agreed. _During these past several weeks, I have given serious thought to the idea that there may actually be a power greater than that of this world, one which orchestrates the beautiful creation and flow of life. There is so much intricate, complex detail taking place in the baby's development every day. I frequently observe it happening, but I never do a single conscious thing to help it. Indeed, I wouldn't have the first idea how to do what happens without any thought of my own. Such an exquisite process couldn't happen by coincidence or accident. It's mind-boggling._

 _What I have always found so impressive,_ Eragon said, _is how much you know about all of this. Every woman ought to understand her body as you do yours. That reminds me! I have been meaning to suggest this but keep forgetting. Willow might really appreciate the same lessons you have given me about the workings of the female body._

 _Is that so?_ Arya asked.

 _Most assuredly,_ Eragon replied. _When she first arrived on the island, she was barely sixteen and her body had not yet undergone the changes you described to me, though at that age, most girls have already experienced the beginning of it. She told this all to me and Murtagh after the changes had taken place, bless her. She must have felt more comfortable confiding in us as almost brothers than anyone else, but it wasn't until two years after her arrival. She thought the stress of raising her brother after her mother's death only to have him pass away five years later, the constant ill health of her father, having Sunset hatch for her, and the difficult first years on the Isle all created such a stress on her body and mind that it delayed for some years what might otherwise have happened earlier._

 _That was a very wise deduction,_ Arya said. _Stress and the condition of the body and mind have an indisputable effect on the cycle I described to you. And if she has always been so thin on top of everything else, her body simply would not have felt her ready to undergo the changes that indicate she was capable of maintaining a pregnancy._

 _Yes,_ Eragon said. O _nce you taught me how it works, I thought much the same myself. She had begun to worry something might be very wrong with her when that anticipated though dreaded day finally arrived. Dreaded because she was surrounded by men—the only females were the elves—who had no hope of describing to her what was happening or helping her learn how to live with it. I suppose the elves could have helped her if they shared your understanding, but they rarely deign to interact with her, a fact I find most regrettable. And besides, she would likely not have felt comfortable seeking their wisdom—if she suspected they had it—because of how formal they have always been, upholding their customs of courtesy and propriety above all else._

 _You speak of_ them _as if I'm not one of them,_ Arya thought in amusement. _But alas, there is no denying the truth of your words. We elves sometimes take our polite manner to an extreme worthy of fault. I appreciate your suggestion, darling. If Willow desires it, I will share as much of my knowledge as she is interested in learning._

 _Thank you,_ Eragon thought. _Incidentally, how do you think Varhog is feeling about his most fortunate riding arrangement? I thought about offering to let Angela ride Saphira, but I didn't want to deny Varhog this unique opportunity, and Sunset_ is _quite a bit smaller and milder than Saphira._

Arya laughed. _I would imagine that he is most gratified. And Willow too. Perhaps this will be the moment he needs to confirm her suspicions._

 _It_ would _be a good opportunity, though they will most likely have to converse mentally._ We _could hear one another well enough with our keen elven ears, but it is still more comfortable to use our minds. Maybe that will help. There is an unavoidable intimacy to this type of communication. Varhog might feel less vulnerable thinking something to her than speaking it aloud, at least initially._

Arya agreed, and they quieted their mental dialogue for a time, while keeping their minds in contact. The now familiar music of Arya's mind lulled Eragon into a peaceful contentment, which he basked in while enjoying the smell of her hair and the feel of the wind on his face.

-:-:-:-

 _The Cycle Continues . . ._

In Part Two:

 **Beauty and the Beast**

* * *

 **A/N:** To reduce the chance that you might feel any resentment or surprise about what's coming, I will briefly share (without giving anything away) what you can expect from the remainder of this story. As the title hopefully makes clear, Part Two delves _heavily_ into Willow and Varhog, and I know some readers have loved them, whereas others thought their story ruined everything. I don't think either is right or wrong, and I always knew that not everyone would love this whole story because we all have such varied tastes.

Only a few chapters in Part One deviated from Eragon and Arya's story. If you merely tolerated those chapters as unwelcome interruptions and put up with the love scenes and fluff because it was between Eragon and Arya, you will probably dislike Parts Two through Four. However, if you enjoyed Willow, Varhog, and the other OCs and loved all of the fluff and romance, you are more likely to enjoy Parts Two through Four. Willow and Varhog really take center stage from here on out, while Eragon and Arya play more of the supporting role (with the exception of the chapters surrounding their baby's birth). I realize that the majority of my audience most likely falls within the wide range between those two extremes.

I wrote _The Cycle Continues_ for me, not Inheritance Cycle fans (though since I am one, I guess that kinda counts :), and what interests me most in any story is the romance. That's what my story has. And since I began (and concluded) writing my story as a thirty-two-year-old married female with kids, the tone and subject matter are vastly different from a series initially authored by a young, single teenage boy (though it should go without saying that I greatly admire Christopher Paolini and that he began writing his books as a very young man).

As I have said before, I never sat down planning to write this monstrous story about two characters I had no idea existed at the time. My sole intent was to reunite Eragon and Arya and give them a love story and happy ending, since the romance written into Inheritance Cycle was just tantalizing enough to keep me going and wondering how it would end. Well, as we all know, there _was_ no resolution, which slightly exasperating fact was the impetus for my work. :) But Willow and Varhog gradually came to my attention, and once they did, I realized that they were anxious to have their story told. So I let them tell it through me because it was interesting to me and, above all, a _great_ love story.

But while some readers may not necessarily care to read about OCs, I also realize they may have appreciated the way I brought Eragon and Arya back together and might be mildly curious as to how I resolve their dilemma. With those readers in mind, I decided to create an "Eragon/Arya track," which will guide you through the enormous remainder of _The Cycle Continues_ with only those two characters in mind. I will list the chapters that mainly deal with Eragon and Arya, and if that's all you want to read about, hooray! You will save yourself a _ton_ of time, finish up my portrayal of their love story, and be on your way with no hard feelings about the excessive amount of time I dedicate to Willow and Varhog. If you happen to really enjoy Willow and Varhog and also want to see what I do with Eragon and Arya, then just go ahead and keep right on reading.

I didn't originally write this story in four parts, so Part Two picks up where Part One left off without any summary or intro. If you want to keep reading, you will find Part Two as _The Cycle Continues Part Two: Beauty and the Beast_. It is also rated M, so set your filters to find it, if necessary (or just click on my username again). And for my Eragon/Arya only readers, here is your suggested chapter list for Part Two:

Chapter 4. Decisions (a lot of involvement with my OCs, however)  
Chapter 5. Passing Through (same as above, since they're traveling together)  
Chapter 6. Detour (last segment, after the -:-:- symbol, though the first part has some nice stuff with Murtagh and Nasuada, also originally from IC)  
Chapter 13. Compromise  
Chapter 23. Best Friends  
Chapter 27. Discussion  
Chapter 33. Legend (not about E/A, but it has some important foreshadowing)  
Chapter 38. Ideas

Those are the main chapters that deal with Eragon and Arya. Obviously they appear in _many_ of the others, but not as extensively. And two of them are basically just love scenes, so if that doesn't interest you, go right ahead and skip them. Actually, if you're not a big fan of love/sex scenes in general, skip any of the chapters with warnings.

To your continued enjoyment!

~Autumn :)

P.S. If you plan on continuing with Part Two, won't you kindly take a few seconds and leave a brief review of what you thought about Part One? I would greatly appreciate it! It obviously doesn't have to be strictly complimentary because if you didn't like certain aspects of the story, chances are good that likeminded readers also wouldn't, and they might appreciate the heads up.


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